


Through The Forest, Through The Trees

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, Domestic Violence, Gore, Horror, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Illness, Minor Character Death, Monster Billy, Monsterfucking, Multi, Slut Billy Hargrove, Were-Creatures, Were-demogorgon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2020-08-23 16:16:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20245708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Billy gets bitten by something strange in the woods. After that, life becomes even stranger.





	1. Bite

**Author's Note:**

> Vibes: Jennifer’s Body, Stephen King’s Cycle of the Werewolf, Wendigo Nosleep Bullshit, Midwestern Gothic.
> 
> The Harringrove doesn’t crop up for a few chapters. Before that Billy is fucking everyone with a pulse.

Billy’s jaw hurts. It’s a deep, throbbing ache. It’s worse, because usually when he feels like this, he clenches it. He can’t right now. He has to keep his mouth slightly open as his feet hit the soft dirt beneath him. 

The sun is low in the sky, light filtering through the trees. The heat of early summer sticks to his skin, making the sweat drip, collecting along the seams of his tank top. Creating a vee of damp on his chest. 

Even his ears are sweating under the orange foam pads of the headphones. He’s not taking those off. He needs the thumping drums, the squealing guitar, he needs to drown out the thoughts rolling around his brain. 

Indiana is awful. It smells like shit, and the weather is bad, and there’s no refreshing sting of salt in the air. It’s cloying dust and pine. It’s claustrophobic. 

But he likes the woods. He likes that he can walk out his back door and just  _ run.  _ The evergreen branches ripple above him like waves. He feels a little like he’s underwater. The forest is quiet. The trees loom large and sturdy. As he follows the deer path that’s cut in the underbrush, Billy is invisible. Not another soul in sight. 

Sometimes he thinks about the fact that he could just keep running. He thinks about what would happen if he never stopped, if he never turned around. He wonders how long he could survive, if he could hunt rabbits, and drink from rivers, and revert to something feral. Nobody would come looking for him. 

He’d never be trapped inside four walls again. He wouldn’t have to stand there with his back against a bookshelf, trying not to flinch as Neil cocks his fist. 

His jaw hurts. He doesn’t want to think about it. He turns up the music. 

It’s getting dark. It’s a new moon. Billy really should turn back. He’s cutting it close. If he pushes much further, he’s gonna have to sleep in the dirt. Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Maybe it would be better than crawling back to his own bed. Neil might be pissed he stayed out so late. There might be more yelling. Something else might end up aching.

He slows to a stop, panting. He places his palm on a tree as he catches his ankle and folds his leg, stretching his quads. The bark is rough against his hand. He didn’t bring water. He’s fucking thirsty. He bends forward, touches his toes. The moisture drips off his forehead into his long blonde hair. 

He turns and starts jogging the direction he came. Working up to a faster speed. The forest whips by. He breathes in, two steps, breathes out, two steps. He’s a little loopy at this point. Dreamy high, zoned out the way he gets when he settles into the rhythm of a long distance. He’s miles away from anything that would pass for civilization. Even with the exertion, this is the easiest he ever breathes. 

Out here, he doesn’t actually exist. Billy, as a concept, isn’t real unless there’s someone watching him. He goes through life reading lines off a teleprompter. He has learned what to say to keep people at arm’s length. He’s learned how to minimize the damage. He’s learned how to lash out, how to talk people into touching his cock, how to drink himself numb, because he has to do something to ease the awful tension in his chest _ .  _ If he doesn’t vent the steam, he might explode. 

But Billy, as a concept, is an utter fabrication. A patchwork constructed over years of trial and error. He’s what other people want to see in him. Nothing more, nothing less. 

If a tree falls in the forest. 

There’s a pricking on the back of his neck. A sudden twist in his gut. Something is watching him. Billy isn’t sure whether he should slow down or speed up. There are plenty of things with eyes out here. Deer. Birds. Squirrels. Plenty of harmless creatures that would leave him well enough alone. But there are also predators. Lumbering bears. Cougars. Something that might size him up and decide he’d be a good dinner. 

He decides to keep running. Mostly because he’s losing daylight fast and he doesn’t have a great chance in a fight against something with claws that can see much better than he can. 

The walkman starts to spew static in his ears. Piece of shit. He yanks the headphones off, kills the volume. He doesn’t hear anything besides his own footfalls. He looks over his shoulder. Doesn’t see anything. He’s still alone. Right?

He presses onwards. It’s harder without the music. Usually, the run back seems shorter. His brain has already catalogued the details. It just shuts off and he’s on autopilot. Not right now. He’s hyper-aware of his surroundings, adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream. 

It’s not often that Billy feels afraid.

He’s familiar with resignation, anger, desperation, hopelessness. Not fear. He’s too reckless for that most of the time. To be afraid, you need a sense of self. He doesn’t care about getting fucked up real bad in a fight. He doesn’t care about getting arrested or expelled from school. He doesn’t even really care if his car runs off the road, or if he drinks so much he never wakes up. 

He’s not really into the idea of being torn apart by something with fangs and claws. That’s gonna hurt a lot. He doesn’t wanna die as prey. 

Billy doesn’t hear the crunch of underbrush. He doesn’t hear growling. One moment the trail in front of him is empty. The next, there’s something blocking his path. It’s so sudden. Billy doesn’t have time to react. He skids on the dirt, not sure if he should strafe or try to turn around. There’s no time. He can’t even wrap his brain around what he’s looking at. 

It’s not furry, even though it’s on all fours. Maybe the size of a large dog. It’s glistening black. Smells like rotten fruit. There are so many teeth. It’s a horrible flower, with fleshy fang-lined petals, blooming while it shrieks at him. 

Billy runs left. It chases him, still snarling, so much faster with the help of two more legs. He knows he won’t be able to outrun it. None of the trees this far out have limbs low enough to grab and climb. He tries anyway. He leaps up and manages to get his hand around a thin branch. It might not be able to support his weight. 

Its doesn’t matter. There’s a horrible, shooting pain. Teeth breaking skin. The creature wraps it’s mouth around his whole calf. It squeezes and yanks him down. 

Billy’s gonna go out swinging. He kicks and screams. The thing doesn’t seem to have eyes. But it yelps when his foot makes contact with its throat. So he does that again, and again. He grabs at one of the fleshy petals clinging to his leg. He digs his nails in and manages to detach it. The thing tries to claw at him. He just keeps kicking it, making it whimper and snarl. 

The rush of a fight starts to grip him. He can think more clearly, feels a few steps removed. There’s a rock within reaching distance. He grabs it and hits the thing on top of the head as hard as he can. There’s a sickening crunch. The grip on his leg loosens. He manages to pull the other teeth-lined flaps of skin off. It’s still alive. But it’s dazed. Billy raises the rock again. He hits the top of its head again. Over and over. Until the monster’s head is a pulp of flesh, black blood, and shards of its skull. 

Billy’s leg is numb, which can’t be a good sign. He might be in shock. There are so many puncture wounds. He’s bleeding a lot. He ties his shirt tight as he can around his calf in an attempt to at least slow the blood loss. Not much. It’s what he has. 

Standing up is difficult. He has to do it. The options are try to hobble back home or die out here. He can’t put much weight on the bad leg. He finds a fallen branch along the way to use as a crutch. 

Billy hobbles over two miles. The last third of it in near complete darkness. Just starlight and determination. He can see a couple feet in front of him and that will have to do. 

He stumbles through the kitchen door at ten o’clock. Susan is sitting at the table, drinking a glass of wine, with curlers in her hair. She startled. Then looks even more terrified when she sees how messed up Billy’s whole situation is. 

“I need to go to the fucking hospital.” Is what Billy says before collapsing on the floor and losing consciousness. 


	2. First Cycle - 27 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is a garbage person with bad opinions and he treats people bad. Whoops.

Billy miraculously didn’t break any bones. At the ER, they stitch him up in quite a few places. They wrap his leg in a lot of gauze. They give him a rabies shot, because he says he got attacked by an animal. He doesn’t describe said animal in much detail, because he doesn’t particularly feel like spending time in the psych ward. He just says it was dark and he didn’t get a good look. It was probably a wolf.

He’s able to go back to work after a couple weeks. He can’t really go in the water, he’d have to change the bandages after, but it’s not like there are kids in actual danger of drowning very often. He just sits on the lifeguard stand, and yells, and blows his whistle. The leg heals fast. No infection. He’s got some scars. A lot of scars. But he doesn’t care much about those. He’s got a cool story about how he beat _ a wolf _to death with a fucking rock. 

Life goes on. Billy runs at the gym instead of in the woods. He doesn’t like treadmills, but now he doesn’t really like being outside. Physically, he’s fine. Except it’s like he’s on the verge of catching a cold or something. He’s just off. He’s not actually sick. He wouldn’t be able to justify going back to the doctor. Neil would bitch about the bills.

Maybe he’s just not sleeping enough.

When he sleeps he has fucked up dreams. It’s not surprising, considering what happened to him. Near death experiences can make you paranoid or whatever.

He just keeps dreaming about the woods. Except everything is dark and greyscale. The trees look charred and there’s ash floating in the air. His steps echo like he’s walking through a concrete hallway. It smells… dead. Not even like active rot. Just the mildew and acrid air of a sealed tomb. 

There are shadows that dart between the trees. Snatches of whispers. He’s always surrounded, and he can never see who’s watching him. 

Then there’s the looming shape that he glimpses between the gnarled branches. Something spidery and inky black. Something older than humanity. Darker than the deepest pit. 

It speaks to him. Not through a mouth, but through a sandpaper voice in his own brain. 

_ Hunt. _

Billy doesn’t know what it means. He wakes up covered in cold sweat. His bones ache and there’s an itch somewhere he can’t seem to locate. It’s like there’s something rubbing him the wrong way underneath his skin. 

***

Billy is used to restlessness. He’s used to sharp thoughts banging around inside his head. The heat of summer seems to make it worse. 

Working at the pool makes it worse. 

He spends all day staring at exposed skin. Curves of bodies. It makes him want in a way that he can barely contain. It doesn’t even seem to matter if he fucks Heather against a wall in the bathroom after their shift. Even though her pussy is tight, and she gets so wet for him, she barely takes the edge off. 

Billy jerks it every morning. He fucks Heather after work, or sometimes on their break if he’s real desperate. Then he drives to Tommy’s house and he fucks Carol. Or if Carol isn’t there, he lets Tommy suck his dick. After that he goes home, and he showers, and he goes out on _ dates _ with whatever stupid bitch he was able to talk into giving him a chance. None of it satisfies him. He’s still starving for touch. Needs to bury himself in slick heat. 

His alcohol tolerance has gone up. He drinks a lot. Lately, he needs half a bottle of whiskey to even get buzzed. 

He’s always fucking hungry. He almost wonders if he’s got a tapeworm or something. He wakes up in the middle of the night and it feels like his stomach is gonna dissolve itself. He has to start buying his own supplemental groceries, because Neil yells at him for eating so much of their food. 

Billy knows something is wrong. He’s not a complete idiot. He actually does go to the doctor again. He talks them into only charging for a follow up visit that he pays for out of pocket. They say there’s no tapeworm. He’s not sick. He’s perfectly healthy. 

The dreams are getting longer and they’re getting more disturbing. It’s not just the woods anymore. He’ll be walking around his own house. The walls will have chunks of exposed wood, planks collapsing. The carpet will sigh dust when he steps on it. There’s always water dripping, though he can’t tell from where.

He can go outside, watch the street lights flicker. He can see shadows behind windows. He can see the whole town, decrepit and decaying. Every house looking like a rickety foreclosure. Dead, yellowed grass as far as the eye can see. Even the asphalt and concrete are cracked and warped. 

Without the tree cover, Billy has a clear view of the presence. He can see the darkness that straddles the whole town with spindly legs. 

He wishes he couldn’t see it. He always wakes up whimpering. His blood feels like it’s on fire. He has to go stand in an icy shower to make it stop. 

He knows there’s something wrong, but he doesn’t know what to do about it. Who the hell could he talk to? He’d just get written off as crazy. Maybe he is crazy. Maybe he’s finally lost it. His mom was crazy too. She used to straight up see shit that wasn’t there. It was only ever a matter of time. 

So he’s gonna keep quiet about it until he’s so far off his rocker he stops caring. 

***

_ Hunt. Kill. Feed. _

Billy jolts awake. It takes him a moment to even get a grip on where he is. He apparently passed out in Tommy’s bed. Carol is naked, sleeping pressed up against the wall. Tommy is between them, with an arm slung around Billy’s waist. 

Tommy is a fuckin’ queer. 

Carol complains about how long it takes him to get hard and how he takes _ forever _ to come. If it’s just him and Billy alone together, Tommy gets a boner from a little grinding. He shoots off after Billy touches his cock for a couple minutes. Billy’s not gonna say anything about it, obviously. That would be admitting complicity. It makes him laugh, though. Carol’s too stupid to notice her boyfriend is a faggot. 

Billy isn’t gay. He likes pussy. He likes fucking Carol. He’s also never gonna turn down a mouth on his dick and Tommy is real enthusiastic about it. He’s better at it than most of the bitches in Hawkins, if Billy’s being honest. 

Tommy’s not awful to look at. His hair has gotten longer and he’s finally learned what pomade is. It actually looks pretty good, wavy and brushed to one side. The freckles are kinda cute. His lips are soft. 

If Billy’s wasted, he lets Tommy kiss him. Tommy is a better kisser than most of the bitches in Hawkins, too. He uses just enough tongue for it to be hot, but leave Billy wishing for more. 

Billy doesn’t want to think about the nightmare he was just stuck in. So he turns to face Tommy. He presses a soft kiss against Tommy’s neck. He cups Tommy’s jaw and kisses his cheek. That’s enough to make him stir. It’s a bad idea, doing this with Carol a few feet away. But she also took some Ludes earlier, so it doesn’t seem likely she’s gonna wake up anytime soon. 

Tommy opens his eyes. His breath hitches when their lips brush together. Billy never initiates this shit. He just. Needs it. He needs something. Anything. Tommy pulls him closer. He flicks his tongue into Billy’s mouth. Yeah. That’s good. 

Billy’s getting hard. Tommy is too. They grind together. It’s skin on skin. Billy feels electric. His dick twitches. He pushes Tommy onto his back and rolls on top of him. He spits on his palm and wraps it around both of their cocks. He rocks his hips. Fucks into his hand. The tip of Tommy’s cock is sticky. It’s nice to rub against. Tommy’s clutching at Billy’s shoulders, gasping and desperate like a bitch. He’d probably let Billy fuck him in the ass. He’d probably love it. 

There’s a weird pulsing in Billy’s ears. Like a heartbeat. It’s not his own heartbeat. It’s much faster. It’s rabbit quick. He can smell Tommy’s sweat. He has to lick it. He drags his tongue up the side of Tommy’s neck. He can feel the blood pumping under the thin layer of skin. He doesn’t even think about it. There’s not time. 

He sinks his teeth in, right where Tommy’s neck slopes into his shoulder. Tommy groans. Then teeth break skin. He yelps. 

“Jesus christ, Billy!”

Billy barely hears it. The taste of blood overwhelms his senses. It’s not like a bitten tongue, or busted lip, or when he gets slugged in the nose and it drips down the back of his throat. It’s _ heaven. _It’s better than any orgasm he’s ever had. The salty nickel flavor makes him dizzy. It makes his whole body throb. His hips stutter and he comes, shuddering, splattering jizz all over Tommy’s stomach. 

_ Feed. _

He keeps lapping at the wound as he jerks Tommy off. Tommy can’t seem to make up his mind about pushing Billy away. He obviously doesn’t like the biting. But he’s thrusting into Billy’s hand. He’s breathing heavy. He moans as he comes. 

Then he shoves Billy away. Billy wants to climb right back on him. Pin him down and keep drinking. But he pauses. Counts to ten, just like they taught him in court-mandated anger management. He tries to make himself relax. It’s hard when he can still smell Tommy’s blood. 

“What the fuck, dude? That hurt.” 

“Sorry.” Billy shrugs. He’s not sorry. He would absolutely do it again. 

“What the hell am I supposed to say to Carol?”

“I dunno. That’s not really my problem.”

“You’re an asshole.”

Tommy sits up. He climbs off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom. Billy hears running water. Tommy returns with a large, square band-aid on his neck. He lies down again, facing away from Billy. 

Billy spoons up against him, curls an arm around him. 

“Didn’t mean to hurt you, baby. You just got me so worked up.”

“Whatever,” Tommy huffs. 

Billy can feel him relax, press back against the body heat. 

“You’re too sexy,” Billy murmurs. Using the same voice that makes girls melt, and drench their panties, and do absolutely anything he wants them to. “You know I’m just here because I wanna touch you. Right?”

“Yeah?” Tommy sounds a little breathy. Like he doesn’t quite believe it, but he sure as fuck wants to. 

“You make me so hard. Think about your mouth all the time.”

Tommy shifts onto his back. Billy kisses him again. It’s pretty gay. Like way more faggy than he’d usually allow. But Tommy tasted so good. Billy wants to taste him again. He’s never been above lying to get what he needs. 


	3. Black Moon

It’s fucking dark out. The dim glow of the porch light barely reaches halfway across the yard. Neil left the kitchen lights on too. But he still needs a flashlight to water Susan’s goddamn roses. The bitch loves her roses. If they don’t get watered, Susan gets  _ headaches.  _

Normally on a night like this, Neil would make Billy do this shit. Billy wasn’t in his room at 9:30pm, when he has work tomorrow. That’s a whole different issue that Neil will have to address. Not that it will do much good. No matter how many times he tries to teach that ungrateful little bastard how to behave like a productive member of society—it never seems to stick. The idiot is such a lost cause even the army couldn’t straighten him out. Fucker ran away from military school. Twice. Then he got expelled for slugging a teacher in the face. 

Neil should have made Dorothy get that abortion. He knew whatever kid she squeezed out was gonna be a nutcase. Neil does accept partial responsibility. That’s what you get for sticking your dick in crazy and not wrapping it. Dorothy might have been the best lay he ever had, but goddamn it wasn’t worth this. 

Neil should have put Billy up for adoption or stuck him with some relatives when Dorothy finally lost it and tried to stab him with a kitchen knife, screaming about how he was a demon. He had to get her committed. Maybe he felt a little guilty about it, so he let Billy stick around. Besides, it would have been a bad look. Abandoning the kid after his wife went off the deep end. Then once Susan came in the picture and was so excited about her brat having a big brother. Well. 

Well now Neil is stuck watering the roses in nowhere Indiana because his fuckwad of a son broke some kid’s arm back in Bakersfield and it was the only way to avoid a lawsuit. 

It’s quiet tonight. Not even any crickets. The only sound is the hiss of the hose and water hitting dirt. Neil isn’t really paying that much attention. Just sweeping the stream back and forth, moving on down the line of bushes. His flashlight catches something that glints bright white. He pauses. 

He doesn’t feel like dealing with a possum or raccoon tonight. He doesn’t even feel like chasing off a deer that’s shown up to eat the flowers. But if something happened to the rose bushes, Susan would get into one of her moods, and it might last for weeks. 

If he’d known she was so temperamental, he wouldn’t have married her. It was such a hassle, getting the divorce to go through when Dorothy was still locked up. Getting legal guardianship transferred over to her cunt sister. Allison never liked Neil. She used to say it to his face whenever she had a few glasses of wine at family get togethers. She said called him an asshole and a liar. Said he was a con artist. 

He always smiled at her, slick and sleazy, and said he’s just good at what he does. He’s been moving used cars off lots for years. Somebody has to. Not like you can really live off an army stipend. 

Neil’s just a man trying to provide for his family. He’s been a man trying to provide for his family since he was twenty-eight, and Dorothy was seventeen, and he got dragged into a shotgun wedding when he knocked her up by accident. That was already his second marriage. His first wife, Eliza, left him the first time he gave her a black eye. He swore he’d never get hitched again. Here he is on his third mistake. Neil didn’t bargain for most of what he has in life. But that’s also just how things go for the Hargrove men. He was born the son of a dustbowl farmer. His great grandfather was on the losing side of the civil war. Their family has rotten luck and it runs bone deep. 

So Neil lets go of the hose. He backs up to the porch door and grabs the shovel leaning there. He marches forward, flashlight in hand, to where he saw that glint of something that shouldn’t be there. 

He moves the flashlight slowly, but he doesn’t see anything. He walks the whole length of bushes down to the gap that leads out of the yard. He doesn’t see shit. Maybe whatever it was got scared off. Neil sighs. 

But then it’s suddenly darker. 

He whips around. His flashlight moves across something large and inky black. Something that’s blocking the light from the kitchen. It’s  _ big.  _ Bigger than him. Must be at least seven feet tall. He can’t make it out entirely. He sees mottled skin. Long arms that end in bony, humanoid hands and sharp claws. It’s legs are bent like haunches. 

It snarls. He swings his shovel. The thing launches itself at him, easily knocking the shovel out of his hand. He tries to scream. But the creature is already on top of him. There are teeth wrapped around his throat, sinking into flesh. Neil can’t breathe. His esophagus is filling with blood. He tries to push at the weight on top of him, but it’s useless. The pain is overwhelming. Worse than the bullet that tore through his shoulder in Korea. 

It growls. Then it  _ rips.  _

Neil chokes on nothing. On his own blood. He’s in shock. He can feel his heart beating. His lungs throbbing. 

Claws in his shoulder. He’s being dragged across the ground. 

Everything starts to fade, his vision tunneling. He’s too weak to fight. He can’t breathe. He can’t move. 

His last thought is about the rose bushes. He wonders if his blood is splattered on them. Or if any of them got destroyed when the shovel flew out of his grasp. 


	4. Second Cycle - 24 Days

Neil is missing_._

That’s what the newspapers say, anyway. There was a trail of blood leading away from the garden into the woods. So _ missing _ seems kind of optimistic. 

Susan is the one who noticed first. She woke up in the middle of the night and Neil wasn’t in bed. She went looking for him. Calling his name. She took a flashlight out back and saw all the blood. 

Billy wasn’t home. When he arrived that morning to get ready for work, there were police cars in front of the house. Chief Hopper asked a lot of questions about where Billy was. Billy didn’t have a lot of answers besides he woke up at Tommy’s house. Not unusual. When Billy asked him later, Tommy said he didn’t remember Billy coming over. He figured Billy must have climbed in the window or something. Also not unusual. Billy said that Tommy should tell the cops that they hung out all night. Of course, Tommy agreed to. Tommy is a pushover. 

Maybe he gave Billy a sideways look that lasted a little too long. But Billy is used to those sorts of accusatory glances. It’s common knowledge that Billy and Neil had a fraught relationship. Nobody who knows Billy very well would testify under oath that he couldn’t hurt a fly. 

Billy didn’t murder Neil, though. Sure. He’s fantasized about it. Finishing what his mom tried to start. Stabbing him to death with a kitchen knife. It’d be poetic or something. 

But Billy didn’t do it. 

Probably. 

He spends days trying to figure out where he was and how he got blackout drunk. He wasn’t with Heather, or Carol, or any of the other girls he’s been talking to lately. So he must have been hanging out with some rando. Hell, maybe he even went out to the bar by the highway where older guys will buy him drinks and tell him he’s a pretty little thing. 

Billy’s not gay. He likes to get fucked up for free. Girls do it. Why can’t he? So what if he sometimes ends up with his dick down someone’s throat. That’s not exactly a hardship. He doesn’t know what else goes on with those older guys once they get him drunk enough to forget about it. Or at least. He pretends he doesn’t know. If there’s nobody else around to see it, did it really happen?

Max avoids him. It’s obvious. Like she will leave a room when he walks into it. Susan is weepy and withdrawn. She just lies on the couch and sobs. Billy offers to plan the memorial service and that just makes her cry harder. 

Billy knows he’s supposed to grieve for a dead parent. Billy never really learned how to grieve. He doesn’t know how to be sad. Whenever he cried as a kid, Neil would yell at him to stop. Or hit him, and make him cry harder, and hit him some more. So. Now he doesn’t know how to cry about Neil. Even if he could, he’s not sure he would. 

It’s not like he’ll miss the bastard. If anything, he’s relieved. He feels lighter. Energized. He’s on top of the goddamn world. He just has to act like he isn’t. 

People are already suspicious. 

***

The house is paid off and Neil had life insurance. Billy buys the groceries and pays the utilities, because Susan is depressed and took a leave of absence from her secretary job. 

Billy feels good. 

All the problems from his injury seem to have resolved. He’s not hungry all the time anymore. He’s still having weird dreams sometimes, but nothing particularly bad happens in them. He just wanders around the ghost-town version of Hawkins. The shadows run away from him. He’s horny, sure. But he’s not acting like some desperate slut. He’s back to being more choosy. Only banging the hottest of the hot. And Tommy, but that’s a whole other thing. 

With Tommy, it’s about the biting. Like. Tommy’s on a break with Carol because he’s covered in teeth marks. Billy just has to sweet talk him a little and Tommy lets it happen. It’s better than sex. Billy knows it’s not normal. Wanting to lick up someone’s blood. He just. Needs it. It’s not like he’s really hurting Tommy. He takes care of the wounds after. He patches them up. He never takes too much. He always gets Tommy off. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. 

Billy knows better than to bite Heather or some other random bitch. They’d get mad about it. They might tell someone. He knows how girls talk to each other. He doesn’t need to be caught doing anything weird when he’s still a Person Of Interest in Neil’s disappearance. 

He’s kind of dating Heather, actually. Like. He’s not gonna stop fucking other people. He doesn’t _ really _ want to be dating her. But it looks good. It makes him seem stable and less threatening when people see him around town with a nice girl. He even dresses the part. Starts wearing polo shirts and khakis like she’s managed to civilize him. He has dinner with her parents. He takes her to the movies and holds her hand. 

He takes her for ice cream at the Starcourt and he is fucking delighted by what he finds. 

“Well hey there, Queen Stevie.” Billy saunters up to the counter, arm around Heather’s narrow shoulders. 

Steve is standing behind the register in a fucking sailor outfit. He looks appropriately mortified about the situation. Too bad he has to wear the hat. It covers up his fluffy, brown hair. Billy’s always liked Steve’s hair. 

“Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. I will be your captain on this voyage of flavor.” He says in a completely dead monotone. God he must hate his life. 

“That’s a real cute outfit they got you in,” Billy winks. 

“Please just order.”

“What do you wanna get, baby?” He pulls Heather a little closer. She snuggles up against him. 

“Whatever you wanna get.”

“Got any recommendations, Stevie?”

“The USS butterscotch.”

“C’mon. I know they got that shit all over the signs. What’s actually your favorite?”

“I’m too sick of ice cream to have an opinion.”

“Damn, Harrington. What sort of customer service is that? Do I gotta ask for a manager?”

“Mint chip,” Steve sighs. 

“Well, two scoops of mint chip then. Was that so hard?”

Steve rings them up. Billy hands over a crisp $20 bill. He holds onto it a second too long and makes sure that his hand brushes against Steve’s. He can’t stop smiling, even as he and Heather walk out with their ice cream. 

He makes a point to go back the next week. Because Harassing Steve Harrington is his favorite pastime, and he’s not sure how many more opportunities he’s gonna get now that they’ve graduated.

***

Billy starts to feel itchy again. He doesn’t have a rash or anything. His skin is smooth. Like, he hasn’t broken out in weeks. Usually there’s at least a few red bumps on his shoulders or chest. 

His hair has been great lately. It’s full and fluffy. The scars on his leg have been fading fast. 

But he’s fucking itchy. Like he’s wearing a wool sweater he can’t take off. He slathers on calamine lotion. He takes cold showers. None of it helps much. He can’t help scratching. Like, he’s clawing himself up every night. But by morning, there are no marks. 

He goes to the doctor. _ Again _ . They tell him there’s nothing wrong. _ Again _. Maybe it’s allergies. Has he switched detergent or soap or anything like that? He hasn’t. Maybe it’s stress. He experienced a loss recently. That can cause strange, psychosomatic symptoms. 

The hunger is back. 

Billy wonders if eating raw steak out of the fridge at three o’clock in the morning is a psychosomatic symptom. He wonders if the insatiable craving for bloody red meat is a psychosomatic symptom. He thinks it’s probably not normal that when Heather gets her period he wants nothing more than to eat her pussy. Like. Actually eat it. He’s gotten his tongue on it plenty. That’s not all he wants to do. Of course, he wouldn’t. He knows how fucked it is to even have the idea. 

He contemplates voluntarily checking himself into the psych ward. He’s pretty sure that once we walked in, they’d never let him back out. He hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s just, you know, acting weird. Having weird thoughts. Maybe it’s just stress. Losing your dad is a big life event. Even if they didn’t get along, maybe it’s fucking Billy up more than he realizes. 

Yeah. It’s just stress. Totally. Probably. What else would it be?


	5. Waning Crescent

It’s not often that Scott goes out. In a town like Hawkins, he has to be careful. People already talk about him being a single man that’s a school teacher. Thirty-seven is a little old for him to still be a bachelor. He’s contemplated trying to settle down with someone, just to avoid suspicion and keep his job. It would be a cruel thing to do. It’s something he might have to do sooner or later. 

Maybe he could get lucky, find a woman who’s just as disinterested in him as he is in her. Probably not. Most of his ‘romantic’ endeavors fizzle out after a few dates, when it becomes apparent he wants nothing to do with sex. If he pressed ahead into some sort of long-term relationship anyway, one of them would always be unhappy. 

Still, it’s a Saturday night. He finds himself in the parking lot of  _ The Rustler.  _ The only bar in driving distance that people like him can go to. It’s not obvious from the outside. It’s country themed, always has terrible music playing. But the drinks are cheap, and there are seldom any women. The men are friendly. Someone could walk in by mistake and not understand what it is. But it’s always easy to pick out the people who know. The men with one ear pierced, or a handkerchief hanging out of their back pocket, no wedding ring on their finger. The men who sit next to you at the bar a little closer than necessary—ask if you live around these parts and if you’re looking to have some fun. 

It’s never very crowded, but most of the bar stools are full since it’s a weekend. Scott manages to get a seat near the door. He orders a beer and looks around. He’s never one to approach people. Too shy. Too nervous. Sometimes he leaves without talking to anyone. Usually though, someone bigger, stronger, and more aggressive will start chatting with him. One thing leads to another. For the rest of the night, he forgets just how alone he is. 

Scott isn’t unattractive. He’s skinny. But he has a full head of hair and a thick mustache. He’s been told by generous people that he looks a bit like Freddy Mercury. He doesn’t have to wait long before he feels someone standing behind him. There’s a small space between his chair and the next one. A man with curly blonde hair leans forward against the bar, waiting to order a drink. He turns his head and smiles. 

“Well, hello there Mr. Clarke.” The guy drawls. He’s young. His scruffy facial hair barely grown in. 

Scott’s heart skips. Is it one of his old students? It’s not someone he immediately recognizes, but people change as they grow. 

“Billy,” the guy offers a hand. “Maxine Mayfield’s brother.”

“Oh!” Scott shakes his hand firm as he can. He knows Maxine. Her bright red hair and even brighter mind. She was part of the AV club. “Yes. Max was a wonderful student.”

“Yep. Too smart for her own good.”

Billy flags down the bartender. He nods his head at Scott. “Two of whatever he’s having.”

The bartender puts two beers on the counter. Billy pays. He slides one of the glasses towards Scott. Somehow, Scott doubts Billy is really old enough to be ordering drinks. This isn’t the sort of establishment that cares. 

“Cheers,” Billy raises his glass. Scott raises his mostly empty one to be polite. 

Billy sips his drink and doesn’t leave. If anything, he moves in closer. His eyes are already a bit glazed over. He smells like cigarettes and alcohol. He’s probably been here for a while already. 

“So,” Billy licks his lips. “You come here often?” 

Billy has one ear pierced. He’s wearing tight jeans. A shirt that’s mostly unbuttoned. Scott has a clear view of Billy’s tanned, muscular chest. He’s trying not to stare. It’s inappropriate. He’s not even sure Billy is eighteen. 

“Every now and then,” Scott smiles. He sips what’s left of his beer, unsure if he should really drink the one Billy bought for him. 

“I haven’t seen you before.”

“Are you here a lot?”

“You could say I’m sort of a regular,” Billy smiles. Flashing pearly white teeth. Somehow, it feels slightly threatening. “Though, I’m not usually the one buying. So you’re welcome.”

“I’m quite honored.”

Scott supposes he has to take the drink now. So he finishes the first one and moves onto the next. Billy glances pointedly down at Scott’s hand. It’s his left hand on the glass. No wedding ring. He didn’t do it on purpose. He’s flustered. 

Billy is close. Scott can feel the body heat. Billy is also very pretty. Anyone with eyes could see that. Billy could have any man in this bar. At least, any man without a conscience. That’s the trouble. He seems to have picked Scott. 

“I don’t mean to be rude.” Scott clears his throat. “But how old are you?”

Billy laughs. It’s abrupt. Harsh. “How old do I look?”

“Not very.”

“I’m legal, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Billy bites his lip. It’s plumper when he releases the pressure. “You’re actually the first person here who’s ever asked.”

“I don’t doubt that… do you have a driver’s license?”

“Sweet Jesus.” Billy rolls his eyes. But he flips out his wallet. It’s a California ID. Date of birth, November 22nd, 1967. “Good enough for ya?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Scott nods. He wouldn’t have trusted a card that said Billy was twenty one. Eighteen seems plausible, at least. 

Scott wonders if he looks as flushed as he feels. He sips his drink. He can’t believe his own audacity. Maybe it was presumptuous to even assume Billy wanted… that. But Billy still hasn’t left. In fact, their shoulders are touching.

“Well, now that’s out of the way, what do you say we get out of here?” Billy practically murmurs it in Scott’s ear. His voice is a low purr. It’s so very enticing.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“C’mon. Do I gotta buy you another drink or something?” 

“No. It’s not that. You’re just quite young.”

“Maybe. But I sure as fuck know what I’m doing.”

Billy grabs Scott’s right hand. He places it directly onto his crotch. Right over the zipper of his tight jeans. The erection is obvious. It’s large. Scott’s breath hitches. He can’t help it. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Billy says again. Eyes full of an irresistible heat.

Scott leaves his beer half finished on the bar. 

Billy follows him out into the dark parking lot. He presses Scott up against the metal door of his sedan before they even get in the car. His kisses are wet and domineering, but far from juvenile. There’s no clicking teeth, or over eager clumsiness. Billy nips at Scott’s lower lip, and slips his tongue in for just a moment before retreating, and he keeps leading the dance so well it makes Scott dizzy. 

By the time they get in the car, Scott can barely keep himself together. He buckles his seatbelt. He drives exactly nine miles above the speed limit all the way home. 

He has a garage. It’s full of various projects, which are embarrassing to let someone see. But he also doesn’t really want to chance the neighbors watching him bring some young man home so late at night. Billy doesn’t comment on the model trains. He just follows Scott into the house, pressed up against his back, pawing at him. 

Scott would offer him something to drink, but Billy pushes him against the first available wall and kisses him again. Billy boxes him in. Billy is about his height, but he’s much more muscular. In fact, Billy grabs Scott’s ass and lifts him up. The only option is for Scott to wrap his legs around Billy’s waist. Clutch at his shoulders. 

It feels like being a teenager again. All heat and heady hormones. Billy is grinding against him. Growling like a wild animal. 

Then Billy bites him. Hard. His teeth sink into Scott’s shoulder deep enough to break skin. Scott gasps. 

“Billy! Oh–no–please don’t do that–”

Billy pulls back, blood dripping down his chin. Then his legs seem to falter. They both crash to the ground. Scott lands on his side. It jars his ribs. Billy’s on top of his leg, putting pressure on his knee. It hurts. A lot. Something is very wrong. Billy is panting. He thrashes away, hands on his face.

“Billy?” Scott sits up. His knee is throbbing. He’s definitely bruised some things. 

But his companion seems in far worse shape. He’s groaning, still writhing on the floor. It almost looks like he’s trying to fight something off. Like there’s some invisible force trying to throttle him. Then Billy goes limp. Scott crawls over him. He’s about to check for a pulse.

Billy’s skin is changing. It’s spreading up his chest and neck, down his arms to the tips of his fingers. He’s going blue. Then a dark black. Did he… did he just suffocate? What… 

Scott can’t believe what he’s seeing. He can’t process it. Perhaps his eyes have failed him. The dim light filtering in from the front hallway flickers. Billy’s limbs are shifting. Scott can hear bones cracking and rearranging. Billy's arms get longer. His legs bend in a way they shouldn’t. His face. Oh god. His face. 

It morphs, skin stretching over bone as his skull seems to distend. His head becomes longer. More narrow. Then his jaw splits into a horrible bloom. There are five distinct pieces. Each lined with teeth. Billy screams. It’s an inhuman sound. It’s feral. Grating. 

Scott is frozen to the spot. He’s not sure he could stand on his knee anyway. In his final moments, scientific curiosity bests his fight or flight instincts. He can’t look away from the creature that has formed before his eyes. He can’t comprehend it. He just wants so badly to understand what he’s looking at.

The tooth-lined petals wrap around his face. They tear into flesh. Two clawed hands clutch at his head. There’s a dull snap as his neck breaks. That’s the last thing he ever hears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the bright side there’s porn next chapter.


	6. Third Cycle - 18 Days

Billy is feeling bold. 

There’s a spring in his step. His skin is practically glowing. He is the king of this podunk town, and everybody should know it. He’s more cut than ever. His bench press has increased by thirty percent in the past few weeks. He’s not tweaked out about running in the woods anymore. He could fight a cougar barehanded and win. If he starts at the crack of dawn, and follows along the river, he can make it outside county lines and back before noon. That’s like, twenty miles. Of trail running. Billy is a fucking god. 

Maybe that’s why he decides to park his car outside the Starcourt at around seven o’clock at night. He parks right across from the BMW that always used to take the nicest spot in the senior parking lot. He’s waiting for Steve and he’s not even bothering to play coy about it. 

Steve’s still wearing the uniform when he approaches. He has his head down, and a windbreaker on despite the heat. Billy is leaning against the driver side door of the BMW, on his third cigarette. 

Steve startles when he gets close enough to see Billy’s feet. He takes a few steps back. Billy blows out a cloud of smoke and grins. 

“Hey, pretty boy.”

“What are you doing here?” Steve is tense. Reminiscent of a frightened animal. 

“What’s it look like?” 

“I’m off the clock. I don’t have to be nice to you.”

“I was hoping you might feel like it anyway.” Billy shakes the brown paper bag in his left hand. 

“What’s that?” Steve wrinkles his nose. Cute. 

“Bottle of my good friend Jim Beam.”

“OK?”

“Thought we could share it.”

“Why?”

“Olive branch. Figure I been giving you too hard a time at your workplace.”

Steve narrows his eyes. He doesn’t trust it. As he shouldn’t. Billy smiles soft and sweet. He knows how to look harmless—at least in a relative sense. 

“I’m serious. I feel bad for you. It must suck having to work such a shitty job.”

“So you want to get drunk with me?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I dunno. We’re not friends? You like. Hate me.” Steve scuffs his shoe against the asphalt. He’s twitchy. Obviously out of his element. Billy lets the silence hold. Steve breaks quick. “Can I get in my car?”

“Nah.” Billy flicks his cigarette butt to the ground and grinds it out with his boot heel. “I’m driving.”

“Who said I was going anywhere with you?”

“C’mon, baby. It’ll be a good time. I promise.”

With that, Billy walks over to his car and tugs open the passenger door. He waits for a moment before gesturing for Steve to get inside. 

“Ladies first,” he raises his eyebrows. 

Steve hesitates. He looks at his car. Then at Billy. Calculating. Billy lets him. Steve already seems about at the limit of what his brain can cope with. 

Billy wins. Steve sighs and he gets in the car. He takes off his jacket and keeps it folded on his lap. Billy gets in the driver’s seat. He rolls down the windows and revs the engine. Pantera starts pounding through the speakers as Billy pulls away. 

“Where are we going?” Steve pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Turkish Royals. He lights one. 

“Quarry.”

“I don’t know how I feel about hanging out in the woods with the shit that’s been happening lately.”

“Aw, you scared?”

“Um. Yeah. You aren’t?”

“Nah. I’ll protect us, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

“Billy. Mr. Clarke was horribly murdered. Like. His face got ripped off. Your dad is missing. How are you not freaked out?”

“I like to live in the moment.” Billy shrugs. 

He presses down on the gas, speeding up faster than is probably advisable. They’re off asphalt and rocketing down dirt roads before long. Billy turns up the music because Steve doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood to talk. Steve finishes his cigarette and just stares out the window. 

Billy takes the turn off and parks a little ways from the edge of the lake. He kills the engine and hops out of the car. Steve follows him after a minute. Billy settles on the hood of the Camaro. The metal is pleasantly warm. Steve sits next to him. They stare out at the still surface of the water. Billy opens the bottle and takes a swig before handing it over. 

“So. How’s it feel to slide down the food chain?”

“Fuck you,” Steve snorts. He takes a few long pulls off the whiskey. Billy watches his throat bob. 

He wants to wrap a hand around it while he’s draped over Steve’s back, pumping into him fast and rough. It’s not the sort of daydream he used to allow himself. Neil is gone. Billy is full of reckless energy. Who’s gonna stop him?

“I heard you been striking out like crazy. All Heather’s friends are talking about it.”

“Did you invite me out here to give me a hard time?” Steve takes another swig of liquor. 

“Nah. I was gonna say you can have a crack at Heather. She’s mentioned she wants to be in a threeway.”

Steve almost spits out th e whiskey. “Um. What?”

“Sharing is caring. She’s a real good fuck. She thinks you’re cute.”

“That’s… that’s really weird, Billy.” 

“Sorry? Didn’t know you were such a prude.”

“I’m not. It’s weird to like. Offer me your girlfriend.”

“Why?”

“It just is! Jesus.” Steve takes one more swig before handing the bottle back. He’s getting a little flushed. Whether it’s the alcohol or the conversation is anyone’s guess. 

“I’m curious, though.” Billy takes a shot. “Did you just like, forget how to hit on a bitch? Or is it that you’re not really trying?”

“What’s that mean?”

“I dunno. Doesn’t seem like you’ve fucked anyone since Wheeler. At least, not anyone you wanted to talk about. Maybe you’re just trying to keep up appearances.”

“Um?” Steve’s so pretty with his wide eyes and messy brown hair. He’s especially pretty when he’s offended. Which is why Billy loves to tease him. 

“Tommy’s told me some shit,” Billy licks his lips. “No judgement. I mean. I’ve done some shit too.”

“Oh my _ god.” _ Steve all but leaps off the car and stumbles away. He turns on Billy to actually point an accusing finger at him. What a drama queen. “Is that what this is? Did you bring me out here to get me drunk and try to fuck me or something?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Nobody’s forcing you into anything.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah. But I don’t understand how this specifically makes me an asshole. If I were you, I’d be grateful for the offer.”

“I’m not fucking gay,” Steve spits. It sounds like a desperate last protest. The sort of thing people say right before they give Billy exactly what he’s after. 

“Sure. I’m not either.”

“We aren’t having sex.”

“That’s fine?”

Steve stalks towards him. He rips the whiskey bottle away and takes another long pull. He must be kinda drunk by now. The guy’s all skin and bones. 

“What did Tommy tell you?”

“He said you sucked his dick and let him fingerfuck you until you came.” Billy grins. 

It’s a gut punch. Steve’s mouth actually drops open. “That’s not—I didn’t—“

“Really? You didn’t?” Billy shifts forward. His legs are dangling over the front grille of the car. Steve’s so close. Billy could reach out and touch him. They aren’t quite there. 

“I can’t believe he said that.” 

Billy really couldn’t either. Considering it was just a few days ago. Considering how fucking useful that information would have been before. Billy’s trying not to focus on words like _ wasted time. _He’s here now. They both are. 

“It’s OK.” Billy makes his voice go smooth and easy. Not a hint of any teasing or malice. “He said it while I had a hand down his pants. I’m not gonna out you or something.”

“I was drunk.”

“Yeah. You’re also a little drunk right now, huh?”

Steve takes the cue to drink more. Billy actually puts a finger on the bottom of the bottle to tip it up further. He keeps it there until Steve chokes and some of the liquor spills out the side of his mouth. 

Billy takes the bottle back. Takes another shot. He’s barely had any. That’s OK. He’d rather remember this. 

He sets the bottle far enough up the hood that it’s not likely to slide back down. Then he puts his hands on Steve’s narrow waist. He rubs his thumbs across those bony hips. The shorts are made of cheap, thin fabric. They don’t do anything to hide the fact that Steve’s getting hard. He’s hung like a horse, after all. His cock is heavy and obvious as it starts to fill out. 

“You are real cute in this outfit.” 

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles. He’s looking down at Billy’s hands. He’s not pushing them away. 

“You’re real cute anyway.”

“Bet that’s what you say to all the girls.” The words drag, but the sarcastic bite is still there. 

Good. Billy likes that Steve snips back at him. Most people won’t. 

“Just the pretty ones.” Billy spreads his legs and tugs Steve closer so he’s right between them. 

It almost knocks Steve off balance. He catches himself with his hands on Billy’s shoulders. He’s breathing faster. Billy would swear he can hear Steve’s pulse quickening. Steve smells _ delicious. _Billy wants to lick him all over. 

“Why are you doing this?” Steve meets Billy’s eyes. There’s uncertainty. Fear. Interest. Steve’s into this, even if he’s not sure it’s safe. Even if he’s worried it’s some kind of trap. 

Usually, Billy’s actions should be met with some degree of scrutiny. He talks out both sides of his mouth. It’s near impossible to pin down what he really means. This, though. This is simple. This is as honest as he’ll ever be. 

“I’ve always wanted to,” Billy says. It’s true. He’s spent countless hours daydreaming about what Steve would feel like underneath him. He’s spent almost a year imagining how soft and wet Steve’s mouth would be on his cock. Before, he was just too scared to reach out and take it. 

He’s not scared of anything now. He’s not scared of god, or the devil, or the shadows that lurk in the corners of his vision. He’s not even scared of the awful presence that he sees in his dreams. Billy feels damn near invincible. 

Billy can see Steve give in. He sees the exact moment where the dam breaks and all the repressed desires flood out. Steve groans, dips forward, and smears their mouths together. Billy tangles a hand in his hair to rein him back. Take control. Steve melts. He surrenders immediately. He lets Billy lick into his mouth, and grab his ass, and he goddamn loves it. The way he’s moaning and whining, you’d think Billy already had a few fingers in him. Billy knew that Steve would be a slut. With such pouty lips and long eyelashes, how could he be anything else? Steve’s a pinup girl. Especially in his little sailor uniform. 

Oh, Billy’s gonna ruin him. 

It’s easy to get Steve into the back seat. It’s easy to get his shorts off and spread him out belly up. Billy leaves the shirt on, he just shoves it up enough to expose all that smooth, pale skin. Steve is fucking responsive. He arches into every touch. When Billy bends down to lick his nipples, it seems like Steve’s gonna get off just from that. This whole night started with an idea about Steve’s mouth and Billy coming in it. He’s getting distracted. He feels like escalating. It doesn’t seem like Steve’s gonna put up so much as the pretense of a fight. 

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Billy says. Just in case he’s managed to misread the situation. He isn’t sure what he’d do if Steve said no at this point. He’d rather Steve didn’t say no. 

_ “Yes,” _ Steve whines so pretty. 

What a whore. 

Billy didn’t think he was gonna get this far so fast. He expected a lot more halting denial. He expected to wade through a sea of shame and guilt, making pretty promises about how it could be their special secret and how he’d be gentle. Instead, he’s being met with the sort of enthusiastic neediness he hadn’t dared to dream of. He reaches for the armrest up front, popping it open to get at the jar of vaseline he keeps in there. Carol likes it up the ass. It pays to have some lube around. 

Steve spreads like butter. He’s panting as Billy settles between his thighs, and rubs a slick finger against his tight little hole. 

“You a virgin?” Billy asks. It seems polite. 

“What do you think?” Steve actually sounds a little offended. 

“I mean. I know you didn’t let Tommy do this. He would have bragged about it. But I think you’ve taken plenty of cock before.”

“Oh my god.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well not like. A lot of different people or anything. I’m not a slut.”

“Sure.”

Billy slides a finger inside the constrictive heat of Steve’s body. Steve knows how to relax into it. He whimpers when Billy finds the right spot. 

“Who?” Billy adds another finger. 

“What’s it to you?” Steve rocks back against his hand. 

“I wanna know.” Billy keeps moving his fingers. Making Steve shiver. “C’mon baby. It’s hot. Tell me.”

“Jonathan.” Steve groans. 

“Before or after he stole your girlfriend?”

“Both.”

“Who else?”

Steve covers his face with his hands. His dick is leaking. Billy slides another finger in him. Really starts to fuck him. 

“Mr. Kilne.”

“Holy shit,” Billy laughs. “The mayor?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell?”

“I don’t know. You just can’t. Fuck.”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter. You’re mine now.” Billy’s a little surprised to find he means it.

Steve is his. Nobody else is gonna touch him. Billy will make sure of it. Steve seems surprised too. His hands slide off his face. His lips part in a gasp. He’s staring up at Billy with an unmistakable desperation in his glassy eyes. He’s not arguing. Why would he?

Billy withdraws his fingers and slicks up his dick. He presses the head of it against Steve’s hole and sinks in. Steve’s a tight fit. They both groan. He grabs Steve’s legs and props them up on his shoulders. He holds onto Steve’s skinny thighs as he starts to thrust. 

He doesn’t really ramp them up slow. Steve doesn’t seem to need it. He’s mewling like a cat in heat, bucking back against Billy’s motions. Greedy for more. He feels just as good as Billy thought he would. Better, even. Billy isn’t used to delayed gratification. If he wants something, he takes it. Steve is something he’s had to wait for. Something he didn’t think he’d ever touch. 

Billy’s warm all over, skin tingling, a little lightheaded. He can feel something crackling in the air between them. The kind of anticipation that usually happens before he goes for the kiss, not when he’s already inside somebody. 

_ “Billy,” _ Steve whines. “So good. Oh my god. Right there. Right fucking there. Faster. Please. Need it.”

Billy is a people pleaser. He’s happy to snap his hips and really pound into Steve. Skin slapping. Slick noises. It’s so hot. Steve flutters around him. Feels like a perfect sin. 

And then Steve comes. He shudders and squeezes around Billy’s dick, making the most enticing noises. Billy’s already addicted. He wants to hear them again. The first hit has him higher than a kite. 

The contractions of Steve’s body push Billy right up against the edge. He only holds out because he’s stubborn. He wants to fuck Steve through it. Wants to fuck him raw and oversensitive. Steve starts to squirm like he wants to get away. It triggers a predatory instinct that makes makes Billy hold him tighter, fuck him rougher. 

“C’mon. Come in me.” Steve gasps. 

Shit. 

Billy peaks. He stops breathing. It rolls through his whole body, makes his hips jerk. He’s struggling for air as he starts to come down. 

He lets Steve’s legs slide off his shoulders. Steve reaches for him and pulls him down into a messy kiss. Billy won’t usually put up with that after he comes. He just wants to roll off and have a cigarette and marinate in the afterglow. He doesn’t mind this. Not when Steve’s trying to full on suck face with him like they’re twelve-year-olds in the back row of a movie theater. 

He’s kinda into it, actually.


	7. Gibbous

Charlotte is wearing her best dress. It’s tight, black silk. The hem barely falls halfway down her thighs. The neckline scoops low enough to show plenty. She had her hair permed a few days ago. She’s got on bright red lipstick and dark eyeliner.

She leaves her wedding ring in the drawer and tells Jordy she’s going out with the girls. She tells him not to wait up.

As she gets in her little red convertible, she’s already aching with anticipation. Of course, she’s been wet since that delectable lifeguard Billy Hargrove caught her as the pool was closing and asked if she liked picnics. Evening picnics. Somewhere private. 

Really, Charlotte had almost given up hope. Billy always pays the most attention to that slut Karen, because she dresses the trashiest. Clearly, however, he has some taste. Charlotte is the prettiest of them all and she’s _ classy _. She doesn’t stoop to wearing high heels at the pool or swimming in full makeup. 

Karen is going to be so jealous when she finds out. Of course, Charlotte hasn’t said anything yet. No use counting chickens before they hatch. But as she pulls out of her driveway, she’s got a very good feeling. The same feeling she gets on the days she pays some strapping young man to do _ yard work _ and offers him some ice cold lemonade once he’s nice and sweaty. 

Charlotte was born with an appetite for the finer things. She married Jordy because he could provide them in a material sense. She has to find her own fun. 

She drives down the dark country roads, listening to the radio. She hums along to one of the top 40 hits that the station plays on repeat. Whenever her nieces come to visit, they tell her about the hip music. She likes to keep up on trends. She doesn’t have any children of her own. She knows she’s pressing up against the boundary where they cease to be a possibility. Her mother won’t stop hounding her about it. The thing is, Charlotte doesn’t particularly want children. They seem like a lot of work. She’s never had a strong maternal instinct. It would involve having sex with Jordy, which is something she hasn’t done in years. She doubts the old bastard could even manage it. He wouldn’t be able to stay hard long enough to come inside her. 

Plenty of people have accused Charlotte of selfishness over the years. She’s never understood why it’s considered a negative personality trait. It’s gotten her everything she wants in life. 

She takes the turnoff for the quarry. She feels eighteen again. Like she’s slipping off to meet her boytoy while her parents think she’s ‘studying’ at a friend’s house. Charlotte has always been pretty. She’s always had someone who wanted her to sneak out and spend the night with them. The only thing that’s changed as she’s gotten older is hiding it from Jordy instead of her parents. 

Billy is waiting for her, standing by the lake, smoking a cigarette. Charlotte can’t resist squeezing her thighs together after she pulls up and parks. The boy is pure sex and he knows it. He’s dressed to kill in a red silk shirt and skintight jeans. His blonde curls flutter in the breeze. The moonlight might as well be professional stage lighting for how delicious it makes him look. 

“Hello, Charlotte… it’s all right if I call you Charlotte isn’t it?” He smiles as he opens the door for her. She’s glad she wore flats as she steps out onto the gravel. 

“Please do, darling.”

He takes her hand and leads her over to a blanket he’s laid out. There’s a six-pack of cheap champagne, which she finds charming. She’s not usually one to sit on the ground. But she kicks off her shoes and settles down, legs folded primly underneath her. He sits next to her. Places his hand behind her, ostensibly leaning on it for support. He hands her a can, which she accepts. 

“Will you open this for me, dear? I don’t want to ruin my nails.”

He smiles and flicks the tab. She sips it. Sticky sweet with a tang of bad decisions. Perfect for such an adventure. 

“So,” she smiles, coy. Looking around them. “Where’s the picnic basket?”

“You’re the picnic, sweetheart.”

It’s a cheesy line. Cheesy as the rest of this play-acted seduction. It makes her throb with need. He cups her jaw and leans in to kiss her. He tastes like smoke. He tastes like summer, and heady, youthful lust. He tastes like senior prom when she was a junior, pretending to be a virgin with a rose corsage around her wrist. His hands are as wide and rough as the handsome mechanic who did the oil changes on her first car. His shoulders are broad and muscular as the captain of a football team. 

Charlotte has always been pretty and Billy Hargrove is the same type of man who’s always chased her. The type of man who can sense she’s just as shallow as he is. She’s never pined or waited by the phone. She’s always ready to move on down the line as soon as something ceases to be shiny and new. 

Charlotte Lafey has never been in love and she doesn’t think she’s missing much. How could she be when the pleasures of the flesh are so fulfilling? When he’s feeling particularly despondent, Jordan calls her a _ Succubus. _She tells him he’s a dirty old man. He’s gotten exactly what he deserves for marrying a girl one third his age. 

Billy runs a hand up her thigh, underneath her dress. She shifts, parting her legs. He touches where she’s warm and slick. 

“No panties? My, my, my,” he murmurs. 

She’s a bit disappointed when he pulls away. It’s short lived. Because then he’s taking off his shirt. She gets to touch that smooth, muscular chest. She gets to appreciate the contrast of her pale, narrow fingers on his tanned skin. He unzips his jeans and strips them off. It’s a bit crass and presumptuous, especially since he’s not wearing any underwear either. But she’s not offended. This is why she’s here. She can’t expect too much romance from a teenaged boy. He’s already made more of an attempt than most would. 

Charlotte swings her leg over his thighs, straddling his lap. He pulls her close. His hardness slides against her, oh so enticing. 

He’s smiling at her. Far more lascivious than someone so young has a right to look. 

Then his eyes fall shut. He groans—but it doesn’t seem like a noise of pleasure. His hands curl into fists on the blanket. He’s tense. Teeth gritted. 

“Billy? Are you all right?” Charlotte shifts back a little. 

He doesn’t respond. She can see the veins in his neck bulging. They don’t look right. They’re dark. Almost black. His skin is turning inky. Spreading upwards from below his waist. 

Charlotte has no idea what’s happening. But she knows it’s not good. 

She stands up as fast as she can and runs for her car, leaving her shoes behind. The gravel hurts her stockinged feet. She left the door open. She gets into the driver’s seat and slams the lock button. She has the keys in the ignition, revving the engine. 

Billy is nowhere in sight. He’s not on the blanket anymore. He’s not standing on the shore. What in the name of Jesus, Mary and Joseph? 

Charlotte throws the car into reverse and starts to back up. She sees a dark black shape in the rear view mirror. She presses the gas pedal all the way down. There’s a thud. Then the rear of her car is lifted into the air. The wheels spin, useless. She screams. The car crashes back down, jolting her. The gas pedal does nothing. Damaged fuel line? Something else? 

She wishes desperately she’s bought the sensible car that Jordy suggested instead of the convertible. Even with the top up, the vinyl roofing doesn’t seem like it will provide much protection. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. 

The roof rips, clean off the top of the car. Something horrible is standing over her. It’s large, and dark, and it smells like roadkill that’s been baked in the sun. It’s face is long and jagged. It has sharp claws. It picks her up effortlessly. She screams, and scratches, and tries to kick it between the legs. It’s useless. 

The fear is overwhelming. Almost numbing. Her mind offers up useless details about the way those large hands feel on her shoulders, claws pricking her skin. She doesn’t really think about Jordy, or her friends, or anything useful. Her life doesn’t flash before her eyes. 

Instead she dwells in a single memory. A boy in a letterman jacket, an arm draped around her in the back seat of a car, parked right here at the quarry. He told her about a man with a hook hand that was said to wander the woods, preying on unsuspecting teenagers. She squealed with exaggerated freight. He promised that he could keep her safe. He was big and strong, after all. 

The creature’s face unfolds, mouth spreading wide in five different directions. Wet darkness envelops her as each section wraps around her head. She wonders if it will rip her at the neck like a barbie doll. Her spine crunches. It snaps her at the waist. Her head twists as the teeth dig in. 

It hurts terribly.


	8. Fourth Cycle - 9 Days

Billy was planning to move into his own apartment at the end of summer. Now that Neil’s out of the picture, that seems less necessary. He can stay rent free under the guise of helping Susan out. As pool attendance starts to wane, Billy applies for a front desk job at the gym. He gets it, of course. He’s shredded. He’s a walking advertisement for their weight lifting classes. 

Billy breaks up with Heather, because he doesn’t talk to her or return her calls for six days straight. Not out of intentional cruelty. He’s just busy. He doesn’t want to deal with someone asking where he is and who he’s with. She cries and tells him to go to hell when he says they can still mess around if she wants to. That’s fine with him. There’s plenty of girls who still wanna get on his dick. Though, he doesn’t really care about them either. He’s even let Tommy fall by the wayside. 

He’s pretty much only interested in how many different ways he can fuck Steve Harrington senseless. It’s like an art project. Living sculpture. It’s a symphony composed from the variety in pitch and volume of Steve’s moans. Steve is noisier than most girls. Billy can really only fuck him in the car, or when Max is at school and Susan’s at work. Because Steve abandoned his parents house at the start of the month to sign a lease on a dumpy apartment with Robin Buckley and so far, that bitch is always home. You’d think they’d get sick of each other. They work together at the ice cream shop. But no. They’re best goddamn friends. 

Robin doesn’t seem to like Billy very much. She stares daggers at him the first time he shows up at the apartment. Good judge of character. Very annoying. 

She’s a dyke. Steve offered that information up so casually. As if Billy would be threatened by Steve living with some girl. In fact, Billy would rather Robin weren’t a dyke. He doesn’t like dykes. They never seem to trust his friendship, they aren’t interested in his dick, and usually their social standing is so low even he can’t lift them up. So they don’t want anything from him and they are generally immune to his charms. Dykes are dangerous. 

He can imagine Robin giving Steve lectures. The same lectures every girl that Billy dates must get from her friends. Billy is bad news. He’s a liar and an asshole. Don’t trust him. Nobody ever listens to that sound advice, of course. Because Billy is hot, and he can talk real sweet, and he can pretend to have a sensitive side. People see what they want to. 

Besides. Nearly a month of Billy getting him off every day is more than enough to blind Steve to reason. Billy’s good at what he does, after all. He’s had plenty of practice. 

***

“Fuck.” Steve drops the morning paper on the table like it’s burned him. 

Billy stayed over last night. He’s sitting at the rickety kitchen table, drinking coffee, while Steve eats cereal and reads the newspaper like an old man. Robin crunches on a piece of toast, hair messy, obviously upset at Billy’s presence. 

“What?” She turns to Steve, sipping her orange juice. 

“There’s been another murder. Mrs. Lafey. They found her at the quarry.”

“Oh shit.”

“I told you it was a bad idea to hang out at the quarry.” Steve kicks Billy under the table. 

“Guess you were right. Want a medal?” 

“Whatever’s doing this… it’s happening quicker. Like. There was almost a full month where nothing happened after the first disappearance. It’s barely been a couple of weeks since Mr. Clarke was found.” Steve shoves the paper in Robin’s direction. She looks it over, brow furrowing. 

“Yeah. I mean. Serial killers tend to get sloppier as they go.”

“Serial killers?” Billy snorts. 

“Uh. Yeah. Three murders. That’s a serial killer.”

“My father is missing.” Billy raises his eyebrow. “I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating. 

“Sorry.” Robin doesn’t look sorry at all. 

“Besides. Aren’t these people getting like. Clawed up and eaten? It seems like there’s some sort of wild animal doing it, right?” Billy’s thoughts drift momentarily towards awful, tooth-lined flaps of flesh. Maybe he feels a slight lack of pity, the clearer it becomes that he was intended victim number one and he survived just fine. There must be more of those things out in the woods. He’s not sure what to do with that information. ‘Be physically strong enough to fend off your attacker’ isn’t helpful advice. Nobody would believe him if he went to the cops, or the paper, or even animal control. 

“How did a wild animal get into Scott Clarke’s house?” Robin cocks her head. 

“I dunno. Maybe he left the door open or something. Do I look like a detective?”

“Maybe I should call Nancy.” Steve says it quiet. Pensive. Like it’s not a total non sequitur. 

“Why?” Billy stirs his coffee. He doesn’t enjoy Wheeler. He doesn’t enjoy how badly Steve seemed to take it when she broke up with him. 

“Her mom and Charlotte were like best friends.”

“So?”

“So she must be upset? Jesus, Billy.”

“I mean. Yeah. I guess. I don’t know any of Susan’s friends.”

“You aren’t Nancy.”

“Yeah. I’m not.” Billy traces his tongue across his lower lip. Steve squirms a little. 

“Gross.” Robin gets up, puts her plate in the sink and stalks off to her room. 

Billy reaches across the table. Intertwines his fingers with Steve’s. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“It’s fine. I don’t know why I ever expect you to not be a douchebag.” Steve huffs a little. But he squeezes Billy’s hand. 

“How about I make it up to you?” Billy inches his chair closer. Leers in the way that makes Steve flustered. 

“Robin was home last night. If she has to hear us fuck again, she’s gonna try to poison you or something.”

“So let’s go on a drive.”

“I have to be at work in an hour.”

Billy pouts. He knows how to look like a kicked puppy if he wants to. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“My shift’s over at seven. You’re dropping me off? So like, I hope you’re planning to pick me up.”

Steve’s dad not letting him take the Beamer when he moved out is maybe the best thing that’s ever happened to Billy’s sex life. 

***

Billy does pick Steve up. He picks Steve up and drives him to a far corner of the Starcourt parking lot, where it’s dark and there aren’t any cameras. He pushes his seat back as far as it will go and pulls Steve into his lap. 

Steve’s shorts come off. Billy fingers him until he's begging for more. Then Steve’s split open on Billy’s cock, grinding on it like he needs it to live. Moaning into Billy’s mouth like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. 

“Goddamn, baby,” Billy smacks Steve’s ass. “Yeah. Fuckin’ ride it.”

“Billy.” It’s barely a whimper. Steve sounds so dazed and pathetic. 

If Billy knew it would be this good, he would have risked pushing Steve up against a locker room wall the first week of school. He can’t believe he didn’t realize what a cockslut Steve is. He can’t believe Steve’s letting him have this. 

Then again, maybe part of him knew. Maybe he always suspected that if he pushed hard enough, Steve would cave. Maybe part of him understood this wasn’t a door that would close after he yanked it open. Hiding Steve from Neil would have been quite the task. 

Steve’s thighs start tense. He moves faster, grinding against Billy’s stomach. Billy relents. Wraps a hand around Steve’s cock. Strokes it slow, with a grip too loose to satisfy. Steve shivers. Nips at Billy’s lip. 

“Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna come on my dick?”

“Fuck,” Steve gasps. He’s bouncing on Billy’s lap so desperately. He’s the sexiest thing Billy’s ever seen. 

“You can do it. C’mon. Feel so good, baby.”

Steve buries his face against Billy’s neck. His hips jerk. His cock twitches. He splatters jizz on Billy’s shirt. He flutters and squeezes down so deliciously. Billy can’t help pumping into him. He can’t help snarling and pushing as deep as he can. 

Having an orgasm inside Steve is maybe the best thing Billy’s ever experienced. He wants it all the time. Thinks about it whenever it’s not happening. He wraps his arms around Steve’s narrow waist and holds him tight as they shiver through the aftershocks. 

“God. Why are you so great at sex?” Steve mumbles against Billy’s skin. “It’s awful.”

“Awful?” Billy laughs. 

“I don’t want to like it this much. It’s not fair.”

“Mmm. I’m not gonna apologize for showing you a good time.”

Billy kisses Steve in the forehead. It’s faggy. Maybe it’s even faggier when Steve sits up and captures his mouth in a deep, dirty kiss. Billy’s never met a bitch that was so into making out after sex. 

He’s not mad about it. 


	9. Cold Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some like, grooming/implied pedophilia here. Caveat emptor.

“Mr. Billy Hargrove, with the Boy Scouts of America.” Larry looks down at his schedule, than up at the kid who’s standing on the other side of his desk. 

Mr. Billy Hargrove does not look like a Boy Scout,  or a troop leader, or like he’s anything other than the sort of punk that vandalizes city property. The lavender polo shirt isn’t fooling anyone. At least, it’s not fooling Larry. He sees the scarred eyebrow, the pierced ear, the long curly hair, and he knows Billy is bad news. What sort of bad news has yet to be established. Larry can always call security if things get rambunctious. 

“Please, have a seat.” Larry indicates the chair on the other side of his desk. “Did you want some water? Coffee?”

“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”

“Well what can I do for you today, Mr. Hargrove? Tanya mentioned something about you wanting to start a new chapter of the Scouts for the boys of Hawkins… but somehow I’m not sure that’s what you’re actually after.”

“It’s not.” Billy smiles. His shoulders slump, he slouches back in his chair, crosses his legs, resting his ankle on one knee. Act dropped so quick it’s almost impressive. 

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Larry knows his polite expression must be a bit strained. It’s almost quitting time. He wants to go home and have a scotch. 

“I’m friends with Steve Harrington.” Billy raises an eyebrow. 

That’s interesting. Larry hasn’t seen Steve in a couple months. Of course, he hasn’t gone looking. 

It’s the same promise he makes to any sweet young thing who darkens his doorway. When they decide it’s over, then it’s over. No ifs, ands, or buts. He will never seek them out. They have to come to him. That’s the Kline guarantee. 

The other end of that promise, is they aren’t supposed to talk about it. Larry is careful. He doesn’t leave a paper trail, or anything that could be proven. However, some types of rumors are more damaging to a re-election campaign than others. If Steve has been a naughty boy, Larry will have to drop by his house and give him a stern talking to. 

“Fancy that.” Larry reaches for a cigar. He cuts the tip off with a decisive force. “Steve’s a fine young man. His father and I go way back.”

“Cool.” Billy just stares at him. 

He watches Larry light the cigar. There’s a hint of a smirk curling on his lips. Larry doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like situations where there’s an information disparity that doesn’t slant in his favor. He’s not going to say anything to betray himself. He’s also not letting Billy out of here until he figures out what’s going on. 

“Did you come here to talk to me about Steve? Is he in some sort of trouble?”

“Hmm. Guess you could say that,” Billy cocks his head. “People tend to think I’m trouble.”

“Where would they ever get an idea like that?” Larry takes a few puffs. Is this kid really here to gloat or something? Is he trying to threaten Larry away? He has a horrible misunderstanding of the arrangement, if that’s the case. 

“It’s downright unfair. I’m an upstanding citizen. A taxpayer, even.” Billy winks. 

Larry isn’t sure he understands the joke. He offers a small chuckle anyway. This is undoubtedly the most bizarre thing that’s happened to him in recent memory. 

He tenses when Billy hauls himself out of the chair. He doesn’t reach for the phone just yet. He doesn’t want to show any signs of fear. Billy might be bulkier than him, but Larry is quick. He’s taller. He’s got a longer reach. Billy doesn’t do anything stupid, at the very least. He just walks around the desk and leans on it, less than a foot away from Larry. That same smirk still on his full, pink lips. 

“Steve mentioned you had a pretty nice trailer outside of town.” Billy reaches over and plucks the cigar from Larry’s fingers he puffs on it a few times before handing it back. 

Well, then. 

“I think Steven might be a little mixed up. I own a hunting cabin.” Larry owns both. Billy shouldn’t know about the trailer. 

“Well. If this alleged trailer did exist, I wouldn't mind seeing it.” Billy shifts, stretching his legs out, arching his back slightly. Putting on an unmistakable display. 

It’s certainly enticing. Something about it seems  _ off.  _ It’s never this easy. Larry’s usual ventures take coaxing. He chooses boys on the shy side—or at least, boys shy about what he’d like to do to them. He has to speak in flowery euphemism. He has to pour out expensive wine. He has to make them feel special. He has to make them feel safe enough to give in. They don’t show up in his office to proposition him. This has all the bearings of a trap. 

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, Mr. Hargrove.” Larry leans back in his chair. “It seems unsavory.”

“Steve wants to come too.” Billy smiles, expression a bit softer. Like he’s realizes how dangerous it is to be so blatant. “I know he wasn’t supposed to tell me. But he really wants both of us. At the same time. He’s a greedy little slut.”

Hmmm. 

That seems more plausible. Still too good to be true.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Hargrove. But I think you should leave my office before I have to call security.”

Billy’s face slides into a sour frown. He doesn’t say anything else. He just walks away. Slams the door behind him. Larry isn’t sure if he needs to have a talk with Steve at this point. Perhaps he should just leave it well enough alone. 

***

Larry is stretched across the couch, third glass of McCallan 18 in hand. He’s got a stack of papers on the coffee table, but he hasn’t really been focusing on them. He’s still a bit distracted by the afternoon’s earlier events. He might have turned down a great offer. But Larry didn’t get to where he is by making reckless decisions. 

He keeps thinking about Billy’s mouth. Those soft lips wrapped around the tip of a cigar. Billy seemed like such a slut, like the sort of boy who’d know exactly how to suck a cock. It wouldn’t be an unwelcome change of pace from the relative inexperience of Larry’s typical conquests. Billy also seems like he’d know how to ride someone. Larry could just sit back and enjoy it. 

Still. If that’s what he wanted, he could pay a professional whore. No need to risk his reputation on an unstable boy like Billy. 

No matter how much fun it could be. 

Larry is filling out in his slacks. He rubs himself lazily. He could call someone to help him take care of it. That’s an awful lot of effort at this time of night. He should be going to bed soon. There’s a lot on his schedule tomorrow. 

He’s toying with his belt buckle when he hears a loud crash outside. 

Larry is on his feet in half a second. He sets down the scotch and grabs his pistol off the coffee table. No doubt his security guard will have heard the noise too. Larry strides over towards the sliding glass door that faces his yard. He keeps his shoulder against the wall, holding his gun as he turns on the floodlights. The grass looks eerie in the sudden brightness. The water of his pool is still. The light goes all the way to his fence. He sees nothing out of the ordinary. 

Then there’s a sudden flurry of motion, a shape falling from above. It hits the ground like a sack of potatoes. Directly in the center of the lit area, like it’s a stage. 

Larry is staring at a mangled body. He sees scraps of the dark blue uniform. That’s Milton. His security detail. Fuck. 

Larry scrambles away from the glass door. He heads for his garage, for the car. He has to get out of here. There’s not even time to call the police. He hears another crash. The crunch of glass. A guttural roar. He doesn’t look over his shoulder. He can smell something putrid. 

He makes it to the door that opens into his garage. Then something snatches at his ankles with a very firm grip. It yanks him backwards, pulling his feet out from underneath him. He lands face first on the hardwood floor with a resounding crack. There’s a flash of light behind his eyes. When he blinks, his vision swims. His nose must be broken. He’s being dragged backwards. Over wood, then onto the stone of his living room floor. He’s still holding the gun. Fuck. He’s still holding it. 

He twists his battered body. Takes aim with unsteady hands. He’s still seeing little dots of silver every time his eyelids drop and raise. The world is tilting back and forth. All he can comprehend is a towering black shape. He points towards the center of it and pulls the trigger. 

His bullet must hit something. There’s an ear-splitting shriek. Then claws digging into his forearm. There’s a strange pulling sensation. A searing pain. 

Larry’s arm is ripped clean off his shoulder. There’s blood on the floor next to him. His brain has stopped processing what’s happening. 

He wonders if the police will find the safe hidden under the trapdoor in his bedroom. It blends into the carpet well. He hopes they don’t find it. He hopes they don’t find the pictures. Naked bodies, in the throes of depravity, all varying degrees of too young. He has a daughter. She lives in Washington now, but she’ll be back for the funeral. He doesn’t want her to remember him that way. 


	10. Fifth Cycle - 3 Days

It’s all over the news. Small town mayor found dead in his home with one of his arms ripped off. The brutally mutilated corpse of his security guard is mentioned as an afterthought. It’s the first double homicide Hawkins has seen since the 50’s. Everyone in town is freaking the fuck out. 

Schools are closed for the day. A lot of businesses are closed. Everyone’s holed up in their houses, with drawn curtains and locked doors, staring at their televisions. 

“Still think it’s a freaking animal doing this?” Robin sneers. 

They’re all sitting on the dumpy couch Steve rescued from the alley. Their television is a tiny box. But the newscast is still loud and clear. 

“You think a regular person could just rip somebody’s arm off like that?” Billy takes a swig from his flask. 

“Maybe it’s a person with a trained dog or something. Maybe it’s two people working together.”

“Maybe we live in the goddamn middle of nowhere and the wildlife is reclaiming the land.”

Steve hasn’t said anything. He’s just sitting between the two of them, legs drawn up against his chest. He seems nervous. He twitches anytime there’s an unexpected noise. He keeps chewing on his thumb, staring at the screen. 

Billy drapes an arm around his shoulders. “You OK, baby?”

“Fine,” Steve murmurs. 

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. This is just… it’s just fucked up, is all.”

Billy’s stomach twists. He doesn’t want to wonder if Steve’s just upset about the murder, or if he’s specifically upset about Larry Kline. 

Despite the clearly fucked up situation—Steve being lured to a trailer in the middle of nowhere to get drunk and get manipulated into putting out—he’s never had much bad to say about Lary Kline. He seems to consider what happened a positive experience. Even after Billy pointed out that Kline was taking advantage. Even after Billy explained the concept of  _ grooming _ and how it’s fucked up that Kline was around, visiting Steve’s dad and giving Steve presents since he was a little kid. Like. Even if Steve was seventeen when they finally fucked, Kline was clearly planning it much earlier. And yet, Steve still seems to like the bastard. Or at least, doesn’t hate him. Might have even continued to sleep with him if Billy hadn’t made his move. 

Steve is trusting. Overly so. He sees the good in people, even when there’s not much to find. He lives in a world where it’s always been safe to go home at night, social constructs are set up to help him, and justice comes to the wicked. 

Billy resents that level of innocence. He resents that Kilne exploited the same traits that let Billy slot himself into Steve’s life. Billy only has an arm slung around Steve right now because he’s a fast talker and Steve can’t keep up. There are precious few steps between what he is and what Kline was. 

Really, Billy’s a little disappointed he didn’t get to fuck Kline up himself. 

*******

“Have you gotten taller?” 

Steve is panting. Billy has him pinned up against a wall. Max isn’t due home from school for another hour at least. Susan is at work. 

“What?” Billy isn’t really paying attention to what Steve’s saying. He’s preoccupied with licking Steve’s neck. Tasting the salt. Feeling his pulse. 

“I swear, I used to be taller than you.”

“What’s it matter?”

Steve looks like he’s about to say something else. Billy grabs his ass and lifts him up. Steve drapes his arms around Billy’s shoulders. Wraps his legs around Billy’s waist. They grind together. Billy licks a sloppy kiss out of Steve’s mouth. 

He keeps expecting to get bored of this. He’s usually bored after fucking the same person a couple dozen times. On some level, all sex is the same. His dick in something wet and warm. On another level, it isn’t. It’s better with someone new. Someone who’s movements he can’t predict. Someone who’s gonna put their own flair on it. 

Steve is just. Intoxicating. He makes Billy feel all sorts of fucked up. Just touching him is like taking a huge bong rip. 

Billy pulls them off the wall and staggers towards Max’s room. He likes fucking people in her bed. It pisses her off so badly. Sometimes Steve protests, but right now he’s distracted. Too into kissing, and grinding, and acting like a fucking slut. 

He’s even more clingy once they’re horizontal on the mattress. He barely lets Billy up enough to undress them. 

But then he’s got a hand on Billy’s chest and is pushing him away… ?

“What’s that?” Steve’s fingers edge at the dark purple bruise that’s a few inches below Billy’s shoulder. 

It appeared a couple days ago. It was just there when Billy woke up. Angry, red, and throbbing. It's gotten darker, since. It’s a weird spot to get a bruise. He has no idea what the fuck could have caused it. He left his shirt on yesterday when he fucked Steve in the men’s bathroom at the movie theater. He should have left it on today. It slipped his mind. 

“I dunno. Must have ran into something.”

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Did you get in a fight?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Do you wanna get off or not?”

Steve lets Billy kiss him. He gets worked up again pretty quick. Billy doesn’t even have a chance to go for the lube. Steve is wet like a bitch, cock dribbling with excitement. Steve even takes the initiative, wrapping a spit-slick palm around both of them. 

They rut together, feverish and desperate. Billy’s breathing too fast and not enough all at once. Steve tangles a hand in Billy’s hair. Tongue fucks him dirty. Billy almost wonders what it would be like to let Steve bend him over. 

Steve is big. It’s like. Intimidating. Billy’s not sure he could take it and he doesn’t like doing things he won’t immediately be good at. He’s not sure he’s ready to let someone else see him so vulnerable. At least, not somebody he’s gonna have to look in the eyes again. Besides. Steve likes that Billy’s aggressive. He likes that Billy is strong. He can never stop touching the bulges of muscle. He melts in Billy’s hands like a candy bar on a hot day. Steve is prey. Billy’s the predator. That’s the dynamic. Don’t fix what ain’t broken. 

Billy thrusts into Steve’s hand. Fast. Can’t contain himself. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his chest. 

_ Feed.  _

No. No, no, no. Not Steve. Even though the hunger grips Billy suddenly. Even if it’s overwhelming. Even if he aches, and his teeth itch, and he feels like he’s been starving for days. 

He’s not going to bite. He won’t. 

_ Feed.  _

The voice is insistent. His brain prickles like a limb that’s fallen asleep. He feels faint. He feels like he’s about to lose control. 

Billy bites into the pillow as he comes. What a cliche. He rolls off of Steve and tries to focus on breathing while Steve jerks off. The urge still throbs deep inside him, but it’s waning slightly.

Steve moans. He grinds into his hand, back arching as he adds to the mess Billy already made on his stomach. Billy drags a finger through it and licks it up. Steve wrinkles his nose. Billy kisses him, pushing some of the jizz into Steve’s mouth. 


	11. New Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.

Billy has been ignoring Tommy’s calls. 

Billy has been ignoring the calls like Tommy is some desperate bitch that he can toss aside after he’s gotten off. 

Billy has been ignoring the calls, not returning them, and not dropping by the house, like Tommy isn’t his best friend and a full year of hanging out basically every day means nothing. 

Tommy’s not bitter about it or anything. He hasn’t been stewing, and depressed, and wondering what the fuck the point of being alive is. Even Carol has asked him what he’s so upset about and Carol is about as observant as a pet rock. He does love her. Not the way she thinks he does. But if he’s being honest, she’s his actual best friend. She’s been there for him through thick and thin since the seventh grade. It amazes him sometimes that she can be so loyal while understanding so little. He still appreciates it. 

So he tells her that nothing is wrong. He just hasn’t been feeling well. She takes it at face value. 

Someday, he’s probably going to marry her. They will live in a house together and she won’t protest them having separate rooms. He will bring home other guys for her to fuck. She won’t notice that he fucks them too. She will probably never know. Or maybe she knows and she just doesn’t mind. He hopes it’s the latter, but he’s not holding his breath. 

His phone rings at nine o’clock on a Tuesday night. He works tomorrow. He doesn’t answer it. 

It stops after a minute. Then it starts again. Tommy sighs. As quick as he is to ignore other people, Billy doesn’t cope well with rejection. In fact, he doesn’t cope with it at all. He’s persistent. He’s going to keep calling until Tommy picks up. 

“Hey, baby,” the voice comes sticky sweet over the phone line. 

Tommy hates the way his heart wants to leap into his mouth. He hates that he wants to forgive everything immediately and just go back to how things were. It’s not gonna go back to how things were. He fucked everything up irreparably the second he let slip that Steve Harrington is adventurous if you get him drunk. 

He knows how Billy has always looked at Steve. He’s had to watch Billy look at Steve for as long as they’ve been friends. He shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just. Billy asked. He gets off on it or something. He likes watching other people fuck. He likes hearing about it. _ C’mon baby, you’re too good at sucking dick. I know I’m not the first. Who else? Tell me. _

“Don’t ‘hey, baby’ me,” Tommy huffs. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Damn. What’re you, on the rag or something?” Billy laughs at him. 

“I’m busy, is what I am.”

“Sure. Sorry to bother you. I just had this fresh eighth of quality shit and I was looking for someone to smoke it with.”

“I gotta be up early,” Tommy says. Which isn’t a ‘no’ and Billy isn’t gonna take it as one. He understands subtext just fine. He just disregards it if he doesn’t like it. 

“So, I’ll come over right now instead of later.”

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon. I miss you.”

It’s a dirty lie. It still makes Tommy’s chest ache. His mom isn’t home. She’s off with her new boyfriend or something. Tommy’s alone in the house. 

“Fine. I’m going to bed by ten thirty, though.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

The line goes dead. Tommy unlatches his window. He doesn’t change out of his sweatpants. He doesn’t do his hair. Billy would notice, because he notices everything. Tommy wants to give the appearance that he’s over it, and that he’s _ fine, _and that he doesn’t need Billy at all. 

Tommy just puts on a record, lies back, and stares at the ceiling. He tries to tell himself that he’s different than all of Billy’s other _ bitches _ because he’s at least clear-eyed about the situation. He knows that Billy only does what’s fun and he doesn’t give a shit about anybody else. Billy doesn’t do feelings. Billy uses people. Billy probably doesn’t consider himself a queer, even if he’s obviously compensating for something with his overblown machismo. 

Tommy also knows that somewhere, underneath it all, Billy is anxious and vulnerable. He knows that awful things used to happen in Billy’s house. He knows that Billy actively tries to repress any and all feelings. He knows that if you get Billy real fucked up, he wants to kiss soft and sweet. If you put on the beach boys after he’s had enough whiskey, he might get a little misty eyed because he misses his mom. Billy is a kicked dog that fear-bites. 

Tommy is an idiot, because the reason behind the biting shouldn’t matter to him more than the scars it leaves behind. 

His window slides open. Billy climbs through it, in his usual half-buttoned shirt and tight jeans. He looks sexy as ever. God, Tommy hates him. Billy is barely in the room before he pulls a joint from behind his ear and sparks it up. He takes a long drag and exhales a smooth cloud. Then he saunters over to sit on the edge of the bed and places it between Tommy’s lips. Tommy rolls his eyes, but he sits up and inhales. They pass it back and forth a few times before Billy says anything. 

“Sorry I been M-I-A.”

Tommy coughs on an exhale. Because he’s never heard Billy apologize for something and sound even halfway sincere. He reaches for the soda on his nightstand and sits up to take a few sips. 

“It’s whatever.” He says, in a slightly raspy voice. 

“Nah. It’s not cool. I know that. I just… got kinda caught up in some stuff.”

Got caught up in Steve Harrington. Tommy has seen them together in the Starcourt parking lot. Billy dropping Steve off or picking him up. They’re obviously fucking. 

“OK,” Tommy shrugs. He doesn’t know what else to do. 

There’s another span of silence as they finish the joint. When it’s down to a nub of a roach, Billy tamps it out in the ashtray by the bed. Then he leans in and plants a kiss on Tommy’s lips. 

Tommy pushes him away. 

“What? You don’t wanna?” Billy crawls further onto the bed, gets right up in Tommy’s face. 

“That’s right. I don't wanna.” It tastes like a lie. 

Billy puts a hand on Tommy’s thigh. Slides it upward. Billy’s close enough that Tommy can smell the bad cologne. He can smell the leather seats of the Camaro. He can smell the spicy, musky undertone that is Billy Hargrove. He hates that it’s enough to make his cock twitch and start filling out. 

Of course, Billy sees. Looks down pointedly. Stops his hand just below the outline of Tommy’s dick in the clearly tented sweatpants. 

“That so?” Billy grins. “Kinda looks like you’re into it.”

“I hate you.”

“Don’t be like that, baby. I just wanna make you feel good. Wanna show you how sorry I really am.” Billy crowds further into his space, practically in his lap. 

“God.” Tommy sighs. Much as he hates Billy right now, he hates himself more. “Fine.”

Billy kisses him again. Tommy can feel the smile. He still lets Billy push him into his back. He even tilts his head as Billy licks his neck. He knows what’s about to happen. Billy’s teeth break skin and Tommy moans. He’s been conditioned to like it at this point. Biting goes with Billy touching him. Kissing him. Taking care of him after the fact. The endorphins make him feel tingly all over. 

It stops. The weight on top of him is gone. Billy is on his feet, halfway across the room, blood on his lips. Inscrutable expression on his face. 

“Uh…?” Tommy blinks. 

“Shit,” Billy murmurs. “Fuck. I gotta. I need some air.”

He’s heading for the window. 

“You’re leaving?”

“Just gimmie a minute. I’ll come back.”

“No you won’t.” Tommy reaches for the box of tissues by his bed. He dabs at his neck. “God. You just did this to see if you still could, didn’t you?”

Billy’s halfway out the window, perched on the sill. He narrows his eyes. “No need to act desperate. It’s not cute.”

“Whatever. You feel guilty about cheating on your new boyfriend or something. Never thought I’d see the day you turned into a fucking pussy.”

“Boyfriend?” Billy laughs. “Keep dreaming. I’m not like you. I’m not some sort of faggot.”

“Yeah right. You’re all messed up about Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. It’s obvious.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you. Get out of here. Don’t call me again.”

Billy disappears through the window. Tommy should get up and put on a band aid. He doesn’t. He just rolls over onto his side and curls into a ball. Hot tears hit the pillow. 

This is how it will always end for Tommy. It’s the same way it ended with Steve after he fell hard for Nancy Wheeler. Before that, it was Nathan Skelton, who fell for Janice Watkins. It ends with Tommy crying alone, because he’s always in love with men who can’t or won’t return those kinds of feelings. 

This just hurts more than it ever has. Because Tommy can understand being left for a girl. He’s never had to cope with being dumped for another guy. 

***

Tommy jolts awake. There’s dry blood on his pillow. He groans. The clock says it’s a little after midnight. 

He was having one of those falling dreams. Where you’re hurtling through the sky and wake up mere seconds before hitting the ground. His mom always says that if you die in your dreams, you die in real life. Tommy doesn’t like the falling dreams. He’s always nervous that it will be the time he smashes against the ground and that’s the end for him. 

His window is still open. There’s a cool breeze rustling the curtains. He hauls himself out of bed. He doesn’t like sleeping with the window open on the ground floor. Especially not with everything that’s been going on. Murders, disappearances, crazed killer on the loose. There’s something fucked up about Hawkins. The past few years, weird shit just keeps happening. 

Tommy grips the top of the window sill and starts to slide it shut. He can’t. 

There are black, clawed fingers curled underneath it. 

The window is forced upward. Tommy lets go. He stumbles back a few steps. But then those clawed fingers are on his waist, pulling him forward. He tries to struggle free. Even after he’s halfway out the window, he grabs onto the edges of the sill. Tries to hang on. He yells for help. The neighbors should hear him. Someone should hear him. 

Then he’s on the ground, staring up at the sky, being dragged across the grass. It’s too dark to make out his abductor. All he can see is that they’re tall. So very tall. The claws are digging into his ankles. They’re headed for the woods. 

Tommy thrashes. He kicks. It’s strong. 

He digs his fingers into the grass, ripping up chunks of it. The sky starts to disappear behind branches and pine needles. His back hits a tree root. He continues to scream as he’s dragged into the depths of the forest. He smacks his head against a rock as he’s yanked over a small ledge. The pain throbs, sharp and splitting. Consciousness fades in and out. 

He hears growling. Snarling. He’s in a clearing. He can see stars overhead. 

Tommy wonders if he’s going to wake up. But he’s already hit the ground. Dark shapes gather around him. Hot breath that smells like an apple orchard at the end of the season washes over him. Something slick presses against the crusted, dry blood on his neck. 

Wolves?

He can’t see. They’re on all fours. Most of them. Except for the tallest one standing at his feet. It rears back and screams. The others join in a bastardized symphony of otherworldly howls. 

Teeth sink into flesh. Tensile strength pulling in opposite directions. Bones pop. Skin stretches. With his last breath, Tommy cries out for his mother.


	12. Sixth Cycle - 1 Day

Billy isn’t sure what to think when he knocks on Steve’s door and Maxine, of all people, is the one who opens it. She scowls at him. It’s deeper than usual. More than simple sibling annoyance and surface-level disdain. She’s upset that Billy and Steve are hanging out. Probably because she knows what it means but doesn’t have enough proof to confirm it. She has threatened Billy before. Told him to leave Steve alone. Billy makes a lot of promises he doesn’t keep. 

“What are you doing here?” She sneers. 

“I could ask you the same question, Maxine.”

The idiot little boyfriend is next to appear in frame. Glowering, like Billy couldn’t snap his skinny neck one-handed. 

Then it’s Steve. Hair messy, a bit wide eyed and panicked. Maybe Billy should have called first. 

“Billy! Um… hi. Come in?”

Both Max and the boyfriend turn their ire at Steve. The disbelief is palpable.  _ Why the fuck would you invite this piece of garbage into your home? _

Billy grins. He sidesteps Maxine and closes the door behind him. He wants to pull Steve into a kiss, just to gloat. But he’s not sure he trusts Max with that sort of ammunition. He certainly doesn’t trust her boyfriend. Then he sees there are more children clustered on the couch. The toothless, curly-haired one that Steve has a weirdly close relationship with. The Wheeler brat. The skinny little faggot related to Jonathan. And a girl he’s never seen before. She’s got shoulder-length brown hair and is dressed like a dyke. Severe is the word for her. 

“You starting a chapter of the boys and girls club, Harrington?” Billy raises an eyebrow. 

“Something like that. Uh. Used to be their babysitter. They’re nervous about everything going on, y’know. We’ve been talking about general safety stuff.”

Billy thinks back to that night at the Byers house. The night where Steve punched him in the face and all these brats were there. He knows there’s something going on. He doesn’t think Steve’s like,  _ a creep _ . He just knows this shit is weird and he’s missing some vital pieces of the puzzle. Maybe Steve will spill the beans later if Billy fucks him hard enough. 

“You’re a bad liar. But whatever I guess. You don’t have to tell me why there are a bunch of children in your apartment.”

Billy strides over to the fridge and grabs a beer off the bottom shelf. He sits at the kitchen table, with his legs propped up on one of the other chairs. He picks up the newspaper. Skims the funnies. 

The silence is tense. It holds for a long time. Billy almost wants to break it, but he’s not gonna be the first one to crack. Billy’s good at a few things. Keeping his mouth shut is one of them. 

“We should tell him,” Steve says. He says it so fast it’s like the words leapt out of his mouth when he was trying his best to contain them. 

The resounding chorus of  _ no, what?  _ and  _ absolutely not _ is deafening against the previous curtain of quiet. Billy puts the newspaper down. Expression arranged into perfect threatening politeness. 

“Tell me what, exactly?”

“You’re right. It’s not a person committing the murders.”

“Steve!” Max hisses. 

“People are dying left and right, OK? Like. He should know at least that much. He needs to stay out of the woods.”

“So it’s an animal?”

“Yeah. More or less.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means be careful. Maybe uh… carry a weapon? In your car?”

Billy’s gaze flicks back to the cluster of kids. They’re all staring at him. An animal—more or less _ .  _ He thinks about fleshy petals and smooth inky skin. This could be the moment he tells the full story to an audience who would understand. Maybe this odd collective of misfits has banded together over mutual trauma of seeing something that shouldn’t be real. 

Thing is, information stops being as useful when you spread it around. Better to hold the cards. None of these kids want him here. The feeling is mutual. He sees no discernible gain from letting on that he knows more than they think he knows. 

Billy takes care of himself. Last thing he needs is a vague sense of responsibility for the well-being of some snot-nosed idiots. He doesn’t want to play house like Steve seems to. 

“I already got a tire iron in the trunk. I think I’ll be fine. Thanks for lookin’ out, though.” Billy finishes his beer and goes for another one. 

He’s barely settled back into his seat when there’s a knock at the door. Steve goes to answer it. Steve steps out into the hallway and shuts the door. Billy is alone with the kids, straining to listen to the feverish whispering muffled by a thin wall. None of them say anything. It’s an uncomfortable glaring contest.

When Steve re-enters, Jonathan and Wheeler are with him. Jonathan at least forces a smile and an awkward wave. Wheeler looks at him like he’s shit on the bottom of her high-heels. What a bitch. 

“Well, damn. If I knew there was gonna be such a big party, I woulda dressed up,” Billy laughs. 

“We’re not staying.” Nancy turns to the kids. “Come on guys. We’ll drive you home.”

The kids seem thrown off balance. But they collect their things, sling backpacks over their shoulders. They walk like a parade of baby ducks out of the apartment. 

The door closes. Steve sighs and grabs a beer for himself before sitting down.

“Man, you’re lucky I ain’t the jealous type.” Billy nudges his foot against Steve’s leg. Playful in a calculated sense. 

“What?” Steve already has on the puppy eyes. He knows. He’s still gonna make Billy say it. 

“Having special, secret conversations with your ex cum donor and dumpster. I might wonder what you got to say in front of them that I can’t overhear. Y’know. If that sort of thing bothered me.”

“It wasn’t anything. We just didn’t want to scare the kids worse than they already are.”

“Gotcha… you ever been the meat in that sandwich?”

“Billy! Oh my god.”

“You’re a fuckin’ slut, Stevie. Jesus.”

“I can  _ not _ . You’re so gross.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“I’m a bad liar.” Steve pouts. It’s adorable as Steve thinks it is. 

Billy’s not mad at him. The roiling jealousy in his gut is directed squarely where it should be. The matching pair of assholes. The bitch who dumped Steve like a bag of rotten onions and the slimey ferret who stole her away. 

We wants to know if it became a three-way thing before the break up, after, or both. He wants to know how offended he should be on Steve’s behalf. Sure, Billy’s fucked plenty of people after ostensibly cutting them loose. But those weren’t people he been in serious relationships with. He never told them that he loved them. 

“What time is Robin supposed to be back?” Billy drains his beer. He’s on his feet before Steve answers. 

“Probably in about thirty minutes.” Steve stands up too. He lets Billy pull him in close, nip at his neck. 

“Guess we’d better hurry, then.”


	13. Sliver

Nancy has been upset for weeks. Months even. They’ve all been on edge since the first disappearance. But since yesterday, it truly seems like Nancy is on the verge of a meltdown. It’s about Billy Hargrove. Jonathan kind of gets it. Sometimes it’s easier to fixate on mundane things than to grapple with existential dread. He’d kind of rather deal with the existential dread, though. He knows how to swing a crowbar at a monster. He doesn’t usually know what to do about emotions. 

“I can’t believe that Steve is sleeping with him.” Nancy says, from her prone position on Jonathan’s bed. 

“I mean. We don’t know that for sure.” Jonathan is sitting next to her. Attempting to be soothing. He’s not sure about the right thing to say. He’s not very good at knowing that. 

“Steve wanted to tell him everything. For all we know, he did as soon as we left. Why else would he do that? He never wants to talk about any of it.”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re just good friends now?”

“Jonathan.”

“They were both friends with Tommy. Maybe they all hang out together again.”

“Steve and Billy hated each other. You really think there would be such an abrupt reversal in a matter of weeks if they weren’t having sex?”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan sighs. 

Sometimes, Nancy won’t let him be optimistic. She’s usually right. But he wishes that she were better at ignoring things that aren’t strictly her problem. What Steve gets tangled up with in his free time doesn’t have to be their problem. That was ostensibly the point of breaking things off. Going back to being just friends. They did it because things were too complicated. 

Steve clearly still has feelings for Nancy. Just like she has feelings for him. That’s a thing Jonathan could make his problem, but he doesn’t. 

Nancy, on the other hand, couldn’t really get past how easy Steve always came for Jonathan. It took him a while to even get hard for her. Jonathan told her not to take it personally. Steve can’t help if he’s. Well. Gay. Or mostly gay, with a few exceptions. You can still love someone and want to be with them even if they don’t exactly suit your preferences. He understands why it bothered her, though. He was also relieved when he didn’t have to be managing two peoples emotions at once. Both Nancy and Steve are very emotional. 

Jonathan doesn’t know what to think about Billy Hargrove. He knows Billy is an asshole. He knows Billy and Steve gave each other a very hard time during senior year. He’s heard Billy sleeps around a lot. 

Billy is hot and he’s an utter douchebag. Just like Steve is hot and used to be an utter douchebag. People can change. 

He doesn’t really understand why Nancy is this upset. If Steve has found someone he likes, then good for Steve. As long as Billy’s not being abusive or something, then they don’t need to get involved. Jonathan desperately doesn’t want to get involved.

“I just. I don’t trust Billy.” Nancy sits up. Starts talking with her hands like she does when she’s getting worked up. “You know how Steve is. He’s very sweet. He’s also an idiot. He’s gonna get hurt.”

“Hopefully not.”

“Like. I know that’s not a thing I can just tell him. I know he wouldn’t listen to me. But the absolute  _ horror _ stories I’ve heard about Billy Hargrove and the way he treats people are kind of a lot to be concerned about.”

“Really?”

“He leads people on, and he lies, and if he does date someone he cheats on them constantly. Like. Tommy is his best friend, right? He fucked Carol at Tommy’s birthday party. In Tommy’s bed. Then an hour later he fucked Lizzy Graham in Tommy’s mom’s bed. He’s a sociopath.”

“Maybe that’s an exaggeration? I mean, people talk. Things get wilder with every telling.”

“I was at that party.”

“Shit.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. I guess I just don’t want it to be that bad.”

“I don’t either. But ignoring it won’t make it go away.” 

She swings her legs over the side of the bed. She’s still wearing a nice dress from work. It’s floral and soft pink. She strides over to the window, nudging the curtains aside. 

“What are we gonna do?” Her breath fogs the glass for a moment before fading. 

“About Billy or… ?”

“The gate is closed. I don’t understand how they could still be out there. They all should have died.”

“Yeah.”

“Hop’s shot two of them this week. How many more can there be?”

“I don’t know.”

“I just… feel like we should be doing more.”

Jonathan stands. He walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She leans back against him. She folds her arms over his and squeezes them. He’s about to ask if she wants to go to bed and talk about it—all of it—in the morning. 

The light flickers. 

Nothing triggers a faster reaction for either of them. Jonathan has a crowbar in his hand. Nancy has grabbed the shotgun from the corner and the shells off the top of the wardrobe. They get away from the window, backs to the wall. 

The glass breaks. Nancy fires a shot from both barrels. While she’s reloading and backing into the hall, Jonathan swings the crowbar, trying to discourage the monster from advancing. 

It’s not a demodog. It’s on two legs. Head in full bloom, shrieking as it bleeds black onto the floor. Nancy hit it square in the middle of the chest. That barely seems to be slowing it down. It’s fucking big. Stretched to full height, it nearly reaches the ceiling. 

Jonathan dodges when it swings at him, manages to get a solid hit at one of its knees before retreating. The creature staggers for a moment. Still screaming. 

“Duck!”

Jonathan follows instructions. The shotgun blast rings in his ears as the bullets rocket over his head. Two in rapid succession. The demogorgon has two new holes in its chest. 

Jonathan swings at its other knee. Hoping to hobble it. He hears Nancy reload. He backs into the hallway. As soon as he clears the door, Nancy shoots. This time she blasts it in the stomach. Will is standing behind Nancy, beartrap in hand. After she lowers the barrel, he sets it down on the doorway and then darts back to cover. Will has his walkie out, desperately radioing the party as they withdraw further into the hall. El is the first responder. She and Hop are on the way. Stay put if possible. 

The monster isn’t coming out into the hallway. There’s a dull thud. Jonathan quickly turns to watch the door. The three of them stand, backs against each other. Weapons ready. Nancy reloads the shotgun. 

The house is silent. The lights don’t flicker again. 

“It’s gone,” Will murmurs. Touching the back of his neck. “I felt it. I felt it before I heard it. And it’s gone now.”

When Hop and El arrive, they investigate the bedroom and find the trail of black blood leading out the window, back towards the forest. It doesn’t go very far. It stops at a mangled deer carcass. 

“It got better after eating.” El crouches and dips her fingers in the inky blood. “This one is different.”

“Yeah. It’s not a dog.” Jonathan grips his crowbar a little tighter on reflex. 

“It’s different.” El straightens up. She shines a flashlight on the black goo. 

The charcoal dark liquid morphs into a dull red on her fingers. It doesn’t quite look like normal blood. It’s still got streaks of black and specks of grey that don’t fade. 

“What the everloving fuck?” Hopper breathes. 

“It didn’t escape the gate. It’s from here.” 


	14. Seventh Cycle - 3 Days

Tommy is missing. 

Billy sees it on the front page of the newspaper. His stomach turns. Because the last thing he ever said to Tommy was _ fuck you. _Sure, Billy wasn’t deep in feelings, like Tommy was. But he liked the guy. Tommy was his best friend. 

Death is following him. He knows there are more creatures out in the woods. They’re upset he escaped. They’ve got his scent. 

First his house. They took Neil. 

Mr. Clarke was Max’s science teacher, which is like, stretch of association. But the guy lived just a few streets over. Billy used to run by his house if he was jogging to the grocery store. 

Then Charlotte Lafey. She was one of the horny housewives that always hung out at the pool. One of the most annoying ones, always trying to get him to come to her house to do _ yard work _. She spent a lot of time talking his ear off in the parking lot after his shift while he was just trying to have a cigarette in peace. 

He was in Mayor Kline’s office, trying to catch some shady shit on tape the day that asshole got murdered. 

Now Tommy. 

It seems like the creatures are fucking with him, at this point. He doesn’t understand why they don’t just try to kill him again. Why they’re taking out all these people tangential to his life. He’s worried about Max. He’s worried about Steve. 

He’s not surprised when he gets dragged in for questioning. He even admits that yeah, he was at Tommy’s house the night he disappeared. Any neighbor could have seen his car in the driveway. But he left at ten o’clock. He went home. Max was awake in the kitchen and he talked to her before going to bed. 

He doesn’t think the day can get worse when Chief Hopper tells him not to leave town and that he’ll have more questions. Then he goes to Steve’s place, and Steve is frantic, and has apparently been calling him all day while he was at the police station, because Nancy and Jonathan got attacked. 

Steve dances around exactly what they got attacked by. He just paces back and forth in the living room, wearing a rut into the thin carpet. He’s chain smoking. Drinking whiskey on the rocks. Billy doesn’t know what to do. He’s just sitting on the couch, watching, while Steve babbles about how none of them should go anywhere alone, and they have to make sure the kids are safe, because of… animal attacks. 

“I know they’re not regular animals, Steve.”

Steve stops. He takes a long drag. “What?”

“At the start of the summer, I was running in the woods. I got jumped by this thing that looked like a dog, but had a head like a spread-open flower that was all teeth.”

Steve turns on his heel and stares at Billy for a long time. Billy doesn’t break the silence. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Steve’s voice cracks. 

“I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it. I mean. I didn’t know you knew until a couple days ago. I’ve been processing, or whatever.”

Steve walks over to him. He slumps onto the couch next to Billy and leans against him. 

“So you… you fought one?”

“Killed that bitch with a rock.”

“Jesus.”

“We’re gonna stay safe, baby.” Billy kisses Steve on the head. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“But it’s not—it’s not one of the dogs that’s doing this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s big. Like. Bigger than a person. It took six shotgun shells to scare it off. That didn’t even kill it.”

“Jesus. What the fuck is with this place? Is there some radioactive mutant shit in the woods?”

Steve chews on his lip for a moment. He reaches for the bottle of whiskey on the table and tops himself off before handing it to Billy. 

“I’ve got some stuff to tell you. You’re gonna need that.”

***

Billy has a splitting migraine. Like, it’s so bad he calls off work to lie in bed in the dark. He takes several cold showers. He eats two thirds of a leftover meatloaf for lunch and is still hungry. 

He doesn’t want to think about everything Steve said yesterday. Government labs. Tunnels of rotten, evil plants under the town. Little girls that can blow shit up with their minds. It’s categorically insane. Like. Fucked up animals in the woods are one thing. The rest of it is too much to cope with. How does Steve walk around like everything is fine? How is he not in a constant nervous breakdown? How do any of them function? 

Max isn’t home. When she gets home, he’s gonna tear her a new one. How could she be willingly involved in this level of bullshit? She could have died. She’s lucky she didn’t. He wants to kill her boyfriend more than he ever has before. It’s that bastard’s fault Max got mixed up in everything. 

Billy didn’t say a lot after Steve gave him the rundown. He didn’t mention that he’s seen the upside-down himself. Didn’t mention that he knows exactly what _ the mind flayer _looks like. Dark, spidery, primordial. 

Maybe he thought about it. Maybe he halfway wanted to open his mouth and that scratchy voice in his head said _ don’t. _

The next thing that left his lips was bile. He spent half an hour dry-heaving, bent over the toilet. He blamed it on the whiskey. On the fact he didn’t have lunch since he was trapped at the police station. 

This morning, he’s glad he didn’t say anything. Billy’s memory tends to be shaky at best. There’s pretty much always been large swaths of time he can’t account for. Drugs. Drinking. Incidents that were best forgotten. Smoothed over and compartmentalized. If pressed, Billy’s not a person that could offer many plausible alibis. He usually doesn’t know where he was, or what he was doing, or who he was with, if you ask him about a specific night. If he remembers anything, it’s often vague flashes. He has problems with linear chronology. He keeps waking up covered in random bruises… and there’s no quick explanation for that anymore. 

Steve trusts him. Nobody else does. Maybe Steve shouldn’t. 

***

Billy is standing in the middle of a graveyard. Rounded grey stones stretch in every direction, only interrupted by the occasional cross, or statute. In the distance, he sees the outline of a crumbling marble mausoleum. 

The sky is lit a sickly orange. The grass is dead. Flakes of ash float in the air, suspended out of time. 

Billy is standing in a graveyard, next to two open graves. He sees the flash of a shovel. Dirt arcs through the air and lands on the ground beside one of the holes. The sounds of metal splitting the ground and dirt pattering onto grass echo strangely. Distorted. Like a ripple through water. Billy doesn’t want to get close enough to see who’s digging. There question he didn’t ask is answered in a moment anyway. 

Two grimy hands appear, grabbing the sides of the hole of leverage. Then a blonde head. The face that Billy sees whenever he looks in the mirror. He watches himself climb out of the grave, wearing a sweat-stained tank top and running shorts. There’s a pair of orange-padded headphones resting around his neck, spewing static. 

The reflection walks up to Billy. Close enough to touch. Billy doesn’t want to touch. There’s a nausea crawling up his throat. He knows intrinsically that touching it would violate some sacred law of nature. So he just stares at it. And it stares back. 

_ “Complete the cycle”, _it says, in a raspy, sandpaper voice. It’s a voice that human vocal cords could never achieve. 

“What do you mean?” Billy feels small. Insignificant. His words too quiet in the dead air. 

_ “We’re close. We have to finish it.” _The reflection steps forward. It reaches for him. Billy shies away. 

The reflection smiles at him with bloody teeth. It lifts its arms skyward. Billy looks up. The presence stretches over them, dark and incomprehensibly large. Silhouetted against the infected sky. 

_ “Feed.” _

Shadows spring up from behind gravestones. They flicker. Warbling in and out of sight as they approach. They’re converging on him. Joining in horrible chorus with ripped throats and rotten lungs. 

_ Hunt. Kill. Feed. _

_ “Complete the cycle,” _ Billy’s reflection laughs. It laughs and laughs. Manic. _ “Feed.” _

It lunges, strong hands clasping his shoulders like wood shop clamps. Billy knows that struggle is useless. He’s frozen in place as it leans in. The points of contact burn, hotter than a gas-lit stove top. The reflection licks his mouth, forcing its tongue in. The salty nickel flavor is overwhelming. Billy feels like his stomach is going to turn inside-out. His lips blister. The reflection kisses his cheek. Down his neck. 

Billy knows what’s coming. He’s always known what was coming in the moments before the worst case scenario. It’s a curse. The knowledge of impending pain. Teeth break skin. The reflection tears into his shoulder. Billy is bleeding. Not just from the fresh wound. His leg is wet. Weeping black ichor from split-open scars. 

Billy screams and no sound comes out. 

He jolts awake, covered in sweat. His leg is still throbbing. It itches. A cold shower doesn’t break the fever.


	15. Cloudy Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Consent issues!!!!**
> 
> Happy hallomonsterfuckinween.

Billy isn’t answering the phone. When Max picked up this morning, she said his car was in the driveway. His bedroom door was locked. Billy didn’t show up at work. The girl who answered at the front desk said he called in sick yesterday. 

Steve knows he’s probably acting a little crazy. Like an overbearing mother hen. He can’t help it. He’s worried. He manages to make himself wait until noon before he starts begging Robin to drive him to Billy’s house. 

“Steve. I love you. I’m positive your stupid boyfriend is just asleep.” She stares at him. The shop is closed today. It’s been closed since Mayor Kline was murdered. He owned it. He owned a lot of businesses at the Starcourt. The management seems at a loss for what to do. 

Steve’s dad has taken pity on them and agreed to help with the rent if the shop doesn’t re-open. Robin says they should start looking for a new job next week. She’s a responsible adult. Which is good. They need at least one of those under this roof. 

But right now Robin is wearing pajamas, settled in front of the TV with freshly microwaved popcorn and some movie Steve’s never heard of. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Steve says reflexively. Because Billy isn’t. They haven’t talked about anything like that. It seems like the sort of conversation that would make Billy tense and go quiet. Or maybe he’d get angry. Maybe he’d laugh and call Steve a faggot. What seems the least likely is Billy agreeing that they are seeing each other in some official capacity, not just fucking. 

“Yeah. OK,” Robin rolls her eyes. 

“He’s not!”

“You hang out with him literally every day.”

“So? I hang out with you everyday.”

“We’re roommates, Steven.”

“Whatever. Will you please just. Drop me off. You don’t have to stay.”

“I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“Look. We’re pushing a lot of horrible deaths per capita. I just want to know that Billy isn’t lying in a puddle of his own blood, OK?”

“God, you’re a drama queen.” Robin sighs. But she sets aside her bowl of popcorn and grabs her keys off the hook by the door. “Allright, shitbird. You’re giving me gas money.”

Steve follows her out to the car. He can’t stop bouncing his leg. Robin only tells him to cut it out once before she gives up. She has the radio on. Steve doesn’t argue about the station. He just tells her what turns to make. 

Billy’s car is still in the driveway. Robin pulls up next to it. 

“You sure you don’t want me to wait a minute?” She idles as Steve gets out. 

“Nah. It’s cool. I’m sure Nancy can pick me up after work if nothing else.”

“OK…”

Robin watches him walk up to the front door. It’s locked. Steve grabs the key from the lockbox attached to the side of the house. Billy didn’t ever technically give him the code. But Steve has watched him punch it in before when he forgot his house keys. 

Steve’s got a weird brain. He’s bad at school, because he can’t retain much that’s useful. He can’t remember stuff if he’s trying. But he can hang onto random snippets like phone numbers for people he doesn’t talk to anymore and song lyrics that he only ever heard once. 

He unlocks the door and steps inside. He hears the putter of Robin’s car get quieter as she drives away. 

Billy’s room is on the second floor. The door is locked when Steve tries it. But it’s one of those knobs that doesn’t actually have a key. There’s just a metal groove that’s easy to turn once he sticks a penny in it. He knows this is an invasion of privacy. He’s never been great at boundaries. Nancy would get mad at him for just showing up at her house and climbing in her window. But to be fair, Billy isn’t good at boundaries either. He drops by Steve’s apartment unannounced all the time. He waits for Steve in the parking lot after work. 

Steve pushes the door open. The thick curtains are drawn. Billy is sprawled naked across the bed. He’s on top of the covers. Skin beaded with sweat. 

There are bruises. A lot of them. Deep purple circles the size of plums. There’s four on his chest. Two on his stomach. Then both his knees are a dull blue-green. What the fuck happened to him?

“Billy?” Steve strides over to the bed. Sits down on the side of it. 

Billy groans but doesn’t open his eyes. He curls into himself, turning away from Steve. So Steve gently rubs Billy’s arm. Trying to coax him awake. 

“Are you OK? Do you need to go to the doctor or something?”

Billy doesn’t respond. Steve feels Billy’s sweat-damp forehead. He’s burning up. It seems invasive to go rooting around the medicine cabinet for a thermometer. Steve has already kind of broken and entered. So like. He goes to the bathroom. Finds a thermometer, some Tylenol, and he wets a washcloth with cold water. 

Billy has turned onto his other side. Face scrunched like he’s in pain. Steve dabs at his face with the washcloth. He cups Billy’s jaw and tries to coax it open. 

“C’mon, I gotta take your temperature.”

Billy grabs Steve’s wrist. The grip is incredibly firm. Bruisingly tight. 

“Jesus. Billy—“

Billy pulls Steve all the way onto the bed. He flips them over, so his weight is on top of Steve. It makes Steve’s heart skip. Because Billy on top of him usually leads to very good things. Like. Brain-melting orgasms. Right now though… 

“I’m pretty sure you have a fever. I don’t know if we should—“

Billy kisses him. It’s wet, and hungry, and tastes like sour morning breath. Steve feels his blood rushing downward, even if this is kind of gross. Billy is slick with sweat and he doesn’t smell great. He still feels good, though. Steve still lights up everywhere Billy touches him. 

Just being in Billy’s general vicinity makes Steve foggy and dazed. All the processing power goes to his nerve endings. He’s oversensitized. Feels  _ everything _ . He feels everything very a lot. There’s not much room left for coherent thoughts. 

Billy is hard, pressing into Steve’s hip. Steve’s hard too. If Billy is sick, Steve’s probably gonna catch it anyway. Like. Fuck it. Literally. 

Steve doesn’t protest when Billy grabs at his clothes. Billy pushes Steve’s shirt up. He tugs his jeans off. He lifts Steve up so easily and flips him onto his stomach. Then he pulls Steve’s hips back, guiding him into his hands and knees. Steve feels the hot breath. Then the slick warmth as Billy licks between his ass cheeks. It makes Steve shiver. It’s gross. It feels so fucking good. That’s Billy in a nutshell. 

It’s not long before Steve’s spit slick, and Billy’s got a couple fingers in him, licking around them. He brushes against the spot that makes Steve go hot and shuddery. Steve flails his hand, grabs the mostly empty tub of vaseline off the nightstand. He tosses it back in Billy’s direction. Billy stops licking him, pushes three fingers in him. They slide smooth. 

Billy hasn’t actually even said anything yet. Which is kind of unusual. He likes to say filthy things. Calls Steve  _ baby _ and  _ slut _ with near equal frequency. As he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his cock, he growls in Steve’s ear. It’s a feral, animalistic sound. It’s so goddamn hot. 

Today, it’s rough. Billy drapes himself over Steve’s back and fucks into him fast and deep. He wraps a hand around Steve’s throat. Squeezes just enough to hint at what’s possible. Steve moans. 

He likes when it hurts a little. The burn of something hard and thick pumping into him just makes him want to spread his legs wider. He wants it harder, and deeper, and more. It hurts  _ good.  _ The signals get scrambled and he can’t tell the difference between pleasure and discomfort. He wants it all. The heat coils in his belly, and his cock throbs, and sometimes he can come just from getting fucked. 

Billy chokes Steve with a bit more intention. Nails pressing into skin. Steve gasps. He can barely get any air now. 

There’s a strange smell in the room. It’s cloying, overly sweet. Verging on something rotten. 

Maybe he didn’t notice it before. But any breath he manages to get tastes like poorly fermented wine. Bad fruit. Billy’s nails dig in. He’s fucking Steve really hard now. Like. Steve’s rubbed so raw, Billy feels bigger than he is. Billy’s stomach isn’t touching Steve’s back anymore. There’s still sweat dripping down and hitting his skin. 

“Billy—“ Steve barely manages to squeeze the word out. He wants to change positions. Maybe get on top and add some more lube to the situation. 

Billy’s having none of it. He snarls again. Snaps his hips with such force that Steve would be inching up the bed if Billy weren’t holding him in place. 

Jesus. It’s like he’s getting fucked with a baseball bat. Steve shudders. The sensation is too intense to dissect. He can’t tell if it’s good or bad. He just feels. So much. 

The orgasm rushes up and smacks him in the face. His whole body jerks with it. Billy like. Screams. It does not sound good. Steve doesn’t usually open his eyes while he’s getting fucked, because the sensation alone is already a lot to deal with. But that gets him to. His eyes snap open. He sees Billy’s arm on the bed, bracketing his, supporting Billy’s weight. His veins are inky black _ .  _ They seem to be getting darker. It’s spreading. 

Before Steve can really react, Billy screams again. 

He goes still. Then Steve is abruptly empty. Billy pops out of him with a slick sound. Steve falls forward onto the bed without Billy holding onto him. He rolls onto his back. Presses up against the wall. 

Billy is halfway across the room. He looks. Not normal. He’s changing. There are cracking noises. Billy is getting larger. The black in his veins has discolored his skin entirely. His face splits open into a bloom of teeth. The next shriek is all too familiar. Steve doesn’t have a weapon. He’s naked and trapped on the second floor of a relatively unfamiliar house. 

Billy—the demogorgon—it’s stalking towards him. Fingers elongated into horrible claws. Legs bent like an animal’s legs. It’s so tall. It has to hunch over. Its shoulders brush against the ceiling. It’s so close. Running would be useless. 

So Steve does something incredibly stupid. He slides towards the edge of the bed and wraps his arms around its inky, thin torso. He squeezes in a firm hug. Rests his face against its bony, concave chest. 

“It’s OK.” He murmurs. “I’ve got you. It’s gonna be OK now.”

He expects to feel claws ripping into his flesh. Teeth clamping around him. The demogorgon stands stock still. 

Maybe Billy is still in there. Maybe Billy can hear him. 

“It’s gonna be OK.” Steve’s eyes burn. “I still love you.”

He’s not sure what possesses him to say it. He hasn’t said it out loud. He doesn’t know if it’s possible to love someone you’ve only really known for about a month. He does. Because he falls too hard and too fast. He overwhelms people because he’s too much. His feelings are too much. 

He loves Billy way too much. It hurts. 

“Whatever happens, I forgive you.” Steve lets the tears start to gather and fall. 

He doesn’t want to die angry. He doesn’t want to die scared. He knows that the inevitable next step isn’t Billy’s fault. He accepts it. He hopes it’s over quick. 

He keeps his eyes closed and he imagines the thing he’s holding is a little softer. He imagines they’re still lying on the bed, tangled up in each other. Maybe Billy is kissing his neck, or pinching him on the hip. Maybe Billy’s being a shit and tickling him, because he likes the way Steve squeals.  _ If you didn’t want me to do this, you shouldn’t make such cute noises.  _

Steve imagines they’re kissing soft and sweet, and that’s what he holds onto. He holds onto it for a long time. It feels like seconds are trickling by into minutes. 

His grip is broken. His arms empty. Steve keeps his eyes closed. The death blow doesn’t come. He hears retching. The thump of something hitting the floor. He has to know. He looks on as the creature thrashes and screams, claws digging into the carpet. 

It looks like a physical struggle going on inside one body. The creature arches off the ground, head whipping back and forth. It shudders. Shrieks. It vomits onto the floor, expelling black slick. 

Then it suddenly goes limp. It doesn’t move for what seems like several minutes. Steve isn’t even sure it’s breathing. Then there’s another sick cracking noise. Bones snapping back into place. The body shrinks. The black dark recedes, first back into the veins, then downwards. The last thing to change is Billy’s leg. Where he got bit. 

Steve kneels down beside him. Billy’s chest is rising and falling slightly. Steve isn’t quite sure how to check his pulse, or what a normal heart rate even is, but he feels blood pumping through the veins in Billy’s neck. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t take Billy to a normal doctor, can he? What if they called the CDC? What if Billy got carted off to some secret lab? 

No. Steve can’t go to the authorities. He knows better. He can’t even go to his friends. He’s not sure what they’d do. 

So, Steve picks Billy up, arm around his shoulders and underneath his knees. He sets Billy gently down on the bed. He gets a fresh washcloth to dab at Billy’s feverish skin. 

He’ll just wait here for a while. Until Billy wakes up again. Maybe they can figure it out together. 


	16. Eighth Cycle - 9 Days

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed. Billy blinks a few times, vision still blurry. It must be late. Or very early. He feels like fucking garbage. Feverish. He aches all over. 

“Stevie?” His mouth is dry. 

“Yeah.”

“Did you break into my house?”

“Yeah.”

Steve doesn’t look like he’s doing too hot either. There’s a dark purple bruise necklace low on his throat. He’s wide eyed. Just kind of staring at Billy. 

“What happened?” Billy doesn’t feel strong enough to sit up. He just kind of waves his hand in the direction of Steve’s neck. 

“You don’t remember.” It’s a statement. Not a question. His voice is flat and kind of distant. 

“No?”

“It’s you.”

“Can you please like… say things in full context. This is annoying.”

“You’re the demogorgon.”

“Uh… ?” Billy looks down at his own very human body. “Clearly I’m not?”

“You shifted. Like. Like a werewolf or something. You turned into it and then turned back.”

Billy has no idea what to say to that. He wants to say it’s fucking ridiculous. There’s no way that could be real? Seems a lot of really weird and impossible shit is real, though. 

So they just look at each other for a very long time. 

“I hurt you?” Billy dreads the answer. 

“Not too badly.” Steve swallows hard. “I mean. I’m still alive. So that’s a plus.”

“Are you gonna tell everyone?” Billy hates that it’s the second question he asks. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Steve says yes. He’d rather Steve didn’t say yes. 

“I don’t know.” Steve runs his fingers through his hair. “I think if I do, they’ll want to kill you.”

“Probably.”

“You didn’t… you didn’t try to eat me. I don’t think they’ll listen. I don’t know. You’ve eaten a lot of other people. You killed  _ Tommy.” _

“I didn’t—god, Steve. I would never.”

“You did.”

“Maybe it was the dogs.”

“Maybe.” Steve’s eyes are a little shiny. “I don’t want it to be you. Fuck, Billy. Why is it you?”

“Neil used to say the Hargroves are cursed.” Billy lets out a harsh laugh. He has to laugh or he’s gonna break. It hurts. His throat is so dry. Fuck. “D’you think… could you get me some water?”

Steve nods. He disappears and comes back a few minutes later with a full glass. Billy can barely prop himself up enough to drink it. He has to collapse back onto the bed. He’s not sure he’ll be able to keep it down. 

“Bright side… they might not have to kill me. I feel like I’m fucking dying.”

Steve lies down next to him, facing him. He’s crying now. Billy’s hand is shaky when he touches Steve’s face, tries to wipe at the tears with his thumb. 

“We’re gonna figure out how to help you.” Steve sounds all choked up. “I’m not gonna let them hurt you.”

“Appreciate it, babe. But I don’t know.” He takes a few steadying breaths. “Kinda think I’m a goner either way.”

“Don’t be melodramatic. As the prissy bottom, that’s my job.”

Billy manages to laugh again. It hurts a little less. He feels sleep dragging him back down. 

When he wakes up again there’s sun leaking around the edges of the curtains. Steve is still there. 

***

Steve just kind of doesn’t leave. Billy is too exhausted to worry about how it looks. Susan must be happy she doesn’t have to deal with it. 

Susan’s probably always known that Billy is Different. She probably knew it when she offered to start taking him along to her hair appointments. When she let him get a perm and taught him about good conditioner and how to look pretty. She probably knew when she found the gossip magazines hidden under Billy’s bed with the sticky, crinkled pages where he looked at Rob Lowe’s face too many times instead of the scantily clad starlets and skinny models in perfume ads. She’s probably always known and had the good grace to never mention anything to Neil. Billy has never hated Susan as much as he pretends to. 

She must know what Steve is and she’s letting it happen. He’s grateful for that. 

Billy fades in and out of consciousness. Lost in a fever dream. The reflection is angry at him. It chokes him. Slaps him. Shoves him into the open grave and starts piling dirt on him while he’s stares at the bright orange sky. 

_ “You have to eat or we’ll die.” _

Billy knows his days are numbered. One way or the other. Either he starves or the brat brigade catches up with him and condemns him for the terrible things he’s done. Steve doesn’t wanna accept that reality. Billy’s not in a position to make him.  Letting Steve hang around his deathbed and try to prolong the inevitable is selfish. Billy is selfish. He’ll take the comfort where he can get it. 

Billy wakes up when he hears Max’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed. 

“Shouldn’t he go to the hospital?” 

“I took him already. They said it’s a virus. Nothing they can do. They just said to take him back if he stops being able to eat and drink.”

Steve lies so smooth. Billy wonders about it. Usually, Steve’s transparent. Maybe Billy’s rubbed off on him. Maybe Steve’s always had the capacity for convincing lies when he feels like it. 

“Is he… how bad is he?” Max doesn’t leave. She shifts back and forth on her feet, brow furrowed. 

Billy wants to say something but his tongue is lazy and his throat is dry. His leg hurts. It keeps throbbing and prickling. The scars look much darker than they did a few weeks ago. 

“He’s not great.” Steve says, voice strained. “But he’ll get better.”

“OK.”

Max walks further into the room. She sits on the edge of the bed. She doesn’t say anything else. Billy blinks at her, eyelids slow and heavy. 

“You gotta stop being a lazy piece of shit, Billy.” Max almost sounds a little tearful. “You can’t stay in this bed forever.”

Billy wants to tell her that he’s sorry. He wants to confess his sins. Maybe it would feel like absolution. Maybe she’d go get Neil’s pistol from the case in the living room and put him out of his misery. 

Billy wants to tell her that he loves her, but he doesn’t. Instead he just slips off into the void. 

***

“OK. So I have an idea.” Steve is sitting cross legged on the floor. He’s got all sorts of papers scattered around him. Maps? Drawings? A freaking calendar?

“Should I be concerned…?”

“Well. Maybe. But. El said that the demogorgon—um you—like killed and ate a deer when it was hurt from the shotgun blasts. And that stopped the bleeding. So. Maybe if we let you hunt something that’s not a human it will make you not sick anymore.”

Billy thinks about that. He’s been craving blood. Steve keeps bringing him raw steaks from the grocery store. They don’t help much. They’re barely keeping him conscious. 

The meat tastes dead. He needs something fresh. 

“That’s not the worst idea.”

“I’ve also been talking to Robin—she brought me some clothes and stuff—and we like, charted out when the disappearances and murders and stuff happened. So. These are probably the nights you turned. See—there’s a pattern!”

Steve holds up the calendar. There are a bunch of circled dates in June, July and August. 

“I can’t do math right now.”

“Right. Well. It’s like, multiples of three? Sorry. I definitely like, asked Susan what day you went to the hospital. So she knows I’m here and that you’re really sick.”

_ “Steve.” _

“Sorry! But—there were 27 days between you getting bitten and Neil disappearing. Then 25 between that and Mr. Clarke dying. Then it’s 18, 9, 3, and there was just one day between Mr. Kline and when you tried to attack Jonathan and Nancy. But that didn’t work! And then it was three days before I saw you shift again. So it seems like… maybe it’s reversing? Because you didn’t eat anyone? It’s been eight days since you shifted.”

Billy blinks. 

“So maybe, it happens again tomorrow. That would fit  the original pattern.”

“Jeez. I thought you were stupid. That’s some idiot savant shit,” Billy runs a hand over his face. 

“I’m not stupid. I’m bad at school. Also Robin helped.”

“So if it’s tomorrow, then what? Let me loose and hope I find a cat instead of a person?”

“Well. I’ve got an idea about that too.”


	17. Woods

Billy looks pale. He’s got his sunglasses on and is sitting with the passenger seat almost fully reclined. He lights a fresh cigarette every twenty minutes or so. He let Steve drive, which is uncharacteristic to say the least. He doesn’t even complain that the radio is on some pop music station instead of blasting the usual metal. 

Steve plotted it out carefully. They’re headed to the wilderness, far away from any people. He figures Billy should be able to hunt. He should be able to find something to eat to make him better. 

What they do after that is a whole other thing. But you know. Day by day. 

“Still with me, buddy?” Steve asks as they turn into a narrow dirt road. 

Billy grunts. 

Probably the most that could be expected under the circumstances. Steve still claps a hand on Billy’s thigh and squeezes. Maybe he’s gripping the steering wheel a little tight.

He really hopes this works. He’s not sure what they’re going to do if it doesn’t. Billy can’t survive indefinitely in his current state. He’s dropped a considerable amount of weight. He’s visibly lost muscle mass. Like his body is eating itself. He’s barely awake most of the time. He can’t get up or walk around very much. Steve’s been playing live-in nurse. He sleeps next to Billy every night. Making him drink water, worried he’s gonna dehydrate from all the sweat.

Steve goes grocery shopping. He drags Billy to the shower. He tries to keep the fever down with Tylenol, and ice, and popsicles that Billy doesn’t want to eat. Billy only wants bloody meat. Raw hamburger and slabs of steak. 

Steve had to call the gym to explain the situation. To say that Billy won’t be back at work for a while. 

He knows Billy is from California. Everyone knows Billy is from California. If Billy’s suddenly too sick to get out of bed for weeks on end and starts to wither away—people might talk about the  _ flu _ people are getting out in San Francisco. The gay flu. Steve’s not sure if that’s better or worse than the truth. 

They turn off asphalt onto bumpy dirt roads as the sun is starting to set. They go deep into the trees, as far as they can get with the Camaro. Steve parks. He helps

Billy out of the car. Billy sits down on the ground, leaning with his back against the tire. 

“Don’t watch,” Billy says, chest rising and falling faster. He flicks the smoldering end of his cigarette aside. “If it happens… just. Don’t look at me.” 

Steve nods. He sits in the ground next to Billy and interlaces their fingers. It gets darker and darker. Then Billy pulls his hand away. He’s down in the dirt. Writhing. Steve closes his eyes. He still hears the snarling. The cracking of bone. 

Maybe he should be afraid. Billy is hungry. Steve’s a meal. He’s not afraid. He can hear Nancy saying  _ you’re just blinded by infatuation.  _ Her tinny voice over the phone. Because Robin told her where Steve was and she’s called several times. She says it’s not healthy for Steve to be there twenty-four hours a day. Not looking for a new job. Not doing anything but looking after of Billy.  _ He has family. Why aren’t they taking care of him?  _

It’s a good question. The answer seems obvious. They’ve never taken care of Billy. They let horrible things happen to him for years. Why would now be any different?

Billy shrieks. Steve keeps his eyes closed. He hears the soft crunch of the underbrush. The growls and snarling grow quieter with distance. 

Steve gets back in the car. He sips from a flask of whiskey and listens to Duran Duran tell him they’re hungry like the wolf. He lights a cigarette and feels ironic. He knows he should try to sleep but he can’t. 

***

Billy returns about an hour after sunrise. He’s naked and covered in blood. He still looks better than he has in days. He’s smiling. He moves easily as he tugs the driver’s side door open and hauls Steve out of the car. He picks Steve up and sets him down on the hood. His kisses taste like salty nickel. He tugs Steve’s jeans open and drops to his knees. 

His mouth is amazing. Hot, and wet, and perfect. Steve moans as Billy swallows him down. Most of the way. Like. Steve’s pretty big. Not a lot of people can get that far. But he’s edging against the back of Billy’s throat. Billy groans. He looks up at Steve with those big blue eyes. His hair is matted with red and rusty brown. There are smears of it all over his face. He looks feral. Wild. 

Steve can’t help but feel like he’s caught in the gaze of a large predator. That’s what Billy has always been. Terrifying and alluring all at once. It’s addictive. Steve can’t look away. 

Billy moans around him. He takes Steve impossibly deeper. It’s so much. Too much. Steve topples over the edge. Billy swallows everything. Hungry for it. He stands up, tugs Steve close. Kisses him again. He’s hard, pressing against Steve’s hip. 

Steve gets a spit-slick palm around him, jerks him off fast and rough. Billy moans into his mouth. Thrusts into his hand. He wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and holds on so tight. He comes, shivering, nails digging into skin. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. 

“Yeah.” Steve kisses him soft, drapes his arms around Billy’s shoulders. “You’re obviously feeling better.”

“No shit. God. I need a shower.”

“Yeah. Uh… your place?”

“Sure. Susan’s definitely still asleep.”

Billy puts his jeans on. He downs the bottle of water Steve hands him and lies down in the back seat. They don’t stop for breakfast, because it’s not worth the chance of someone seeing how Billy looks. 

They go in the back door, Steve first. Nobody’s in the kitchen. They dart up the stairs and get Billy into the bathroom unseen. While he’s in the shower, Steve changes the sheets. He opens up the window to get some air in the room, cleans up the mess of papers strewn across the floor. Billy reappears after a while with wet hair and a smile on his face. Steve is waiting on the bed. 

Billy’s almost… glowing. He looks so pretty. Skin smooth, muscles cut in sharp relief. His curls look more full and bouncy, even wet. 

“See something you like?” Billy winks, letting the towel slung around his hips fall to the floor. 

“Um. Yeah. You should uh—you should fuck me.”

Billy climbs into bed and does just that. 


	18. Ninth Cycle - 3 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy's a dick, man. None of us should find that surprising.

Everything feels fine. Billy’s not sick anymore. He goes back to work after taking a day to make sure the fix will last. Deep down, Billy wonders if a deer is really the same. He suspects it might be a side salad. Not enough to live on indefinitely. 

Steve’s so happy, though. Billy doesn’t want to say something like that. Besides, Billy feels great. So maybe all that matters is the fresh meat. Maybe the species is inconsequential. 

He can’t lift as much as usual, the past couple weeks have been hell on his body. He takes it slow. Better to work himself back up instead of risking injury. 

He takes Carol out to dinner and listens to her cry about Tommy. He’s not sure why he does it. Maybe it’s a vague sense of guilt. He doesn’t remember doing anything to Tommy. He doesn’t remember. 

“I miss him so much,” Carol’s breaths are shaky. They’re sitting on the same side of a booth at a pizza place. The three of them used to come here sometimes. She’s leaning against him. Tears running down her face. She’s barely touched her food. 

He drapes an arm around her shoulders and squeezes her. “I know, baby. I miss him too.”

Billy does. 

He misses Tommy with a depth he wouldn’t have anticipated. Maybe he feels guilty about more than just the disappearance. Maybe he feels bad about unceremoniously dumping Tommy the second he realized Steve was a reachable goal. Like. Billy’s an asshole. Always has been. But that’s not the way you should treat somebody who’s ostensibly your friend. 

He pays for dinner and walks Carol out to her car. She throws her arms around him and tries to kiss him. 

“Carol… I’m sorry. I can’t.” Billy’s throat is dry. 

He couldn’t articulate why he feels nauseous at the idea of it. He just does. 

“It’s OK,” she babbles. “It’s OK, Tommy likes us together. He wouldn’t be upset.”

“I can’t. Not without him here,” Billy says. Even if it’s a flimsy excuse. He’s fucked Carol on his own plenty. 

_ “Please _ .” She clutches at him. “I’m so… I’m so lonely. You remind me of him.”

Shit. 

Carol’s parked on a dark street. They get into the back seat. Billy licks her clit while zoning out, thinking about other shit. The grocery list. His bank account, which took a hit from not working for so long. 

She comes on his face. Then his fingers. He’s thinking about Steve. He’s thinking about sucking Steve’s dick, and finger fucking him until his thighs shake. Until he gasps Billy’s name _ .  _ Carol’s moaning is borderline annoying. It used to get him hot. It’s not the same. He’s barely half hard. 

Carol has no right to be offended that he doesn’t want to put his dick in her. She still seems upset. But she can’t say that when he just got her off like five times in a row and there’s a puddle on the seat underneath her. So she kisses him when they get out of the car. She says they should do this again soon. 

Billy goes home and takes a shower. He brushes his teeth then he drives to Steve’s apartment. It’s pretty late. Verging in midnight. Billy has a key—which of course is a fact that drives Robin up the wall. 

Steve’s asleep in his little box of a bedroom. The queen-sized mattress takes up most of the space. The closet barely opens all the way. Billy strips and slides into bed. Steve snuffles, not waking up all the way but rolling over to press against the body heat. Billy kisses him on the forehead. Steve nuzzles the side of his neck, letting out a small sigh. 

It’s dumb. Billy’s turned into some sort of sucker. Steve just. He’s so overbearingly it nice? It’s like, contagious or something. 

Billy falls asleep fast. Especially on Steve’s bed. He’s always out within minutes. It’s just a nice

mattress, is all. He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later. It’s still dark out. Steve is pressing an erection against his hip. Squirming. Letting out those soft little noises he makes when he’s sleepy and needy. 

“Oh yeah?” Billy murmurs. 

Steve grinds with a little more purpose. Billy can’t really see much in the dark room. He doesn’t need to. He sits up, flips Steve over onto his stomach. Steve whimpers and arches his back, gets his knees underneath him. He gets in position like a good little bitch. Bracing himself on his forearms, face in the pillows. Billy grabs the lube off the floor next to the mattress, where it always is. He squeezes some directly onto Steve’s hole. It doesn’t take much to get Steve ready at this point. Not when he’s already so relaxed and dreamy. Billy rubs his thumb around Steve’s hole, teasing it open with wide circles. When once he gets his whole thumb in, that’s enough.

He’s rock hard already. Just has to line up and press in slow. Steve moans. He’s perfectly tight around Billy’s dick. He’s so warm on the inside. Fuck. 

“Hungry for some cock, huh, baby?” Billy rocks his hips. Just dipping in and out. 

Steve moans some more. It’s barely muffled by the pillows. He’s pressing back against Billy’s dick. Well. That’s an answer. 

Billy grabs Steve’s waist, jerks him up and backwards. Steve scrambles to brace his hands on the mattress. Billy doesn’t waste time. He knows how Steve likes it. Hard. Deep. Skin slapping together. He fists his hand in Steve’s hair and pulls it, making Steve crane his head back. 

“Such a fucking whore,” Billy coos. 

Steve tries to support himself on just one hand to get at his dick. Billy slaps his ass. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

_ “Sorry,”  _ Steve whines. Both hands back on the mattress. “Just—feels so good.”

“I know, sweetheart. You love getting fucked.”

“I do.”

“You’re my little slut, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Say it.”

“I’m your slut.” Steve shivers. His muscles flutter. Squeeze down so sweet. 

Billy lets go of Steve’s hair to grab his hips. He fucks into Steve harder. Steve matches his rhythm, rocking back against every thrust. He’s whining. Almost sobbing.  _ Yes. So good. Please.  _

Steve’s beautiful. Even in the dark, not much more than a vague outline. Billy could still look at him forever. 

He feels amazing. Not just where he’s currently stretched around Billy’s dick. It’s also his soft skin. Long legs. The delicate curve of his waist. His fluffy hair. Just touching him makes Billy ache. 

“Gonna come for me?” Billy’s voice is low and raspy. A little strained. 

“Close.”

Billy drapes himself over Steve’s back. Gets a hand around his dick and strokes it. Steve comes almost immediately. He shudders. Clenching so tight around Billy. It’s an overwhelming rush. Especially the way Steve’s moaning Billy’s name. Billy falls apart too. Groans as he fills Steve up. He stays in for a minute. Just marinating in the feeling before he finally pulls out. 

He wipes his dick off with some tissues, which he tosses crumpled on the floor. Steve cuddles up against him. Breathing heavy. Sweaty. Billy kisses him on the top of the head.

Billy feels… tired. Not just in the physical sense. It’s existential. The vague heaviness in his chest that’s always been there and gets a little harder to carry every day he’s still alive. Steve is sweet. Billy isn’t. Billy is a literal monster. He’s hurt so many people. Because he hurts. His bones are coated in sandpaper. Always uncomfortable, rubbing the wrong way every time he moves. Every time he breathes. Nothing helps. He’s much too fucked up to ever be fixed.

If he were a better person, he’d leave. He’d walk out the door and just keep walking. He’d get as far away from any other living soul as he possibly could. He’d die alone. 

He’s not a martyr. He’ll go out in a blaze of fury and probably take some other people with him. It seems like a fact that was written in the stars from his very first heartbeat. He just hopes that Steve doesn’t get caught in the crossfire. Steve deserves better than that.

Billy worries it might be too late.


	19. Neighborhood

Billy and Steve are just sitting on the couch, watching a movie. John Carpenter’s  _ The Thing.  _ Steve kind of missed the first half of it, because he was bent over the arm of the couch. Robin is out with one of the girls who used to work at Macy’s. A girl that Robin would give free ice cream all the time. Steve hopes it goes well. Even though Robin said she’s pretty sure that it’s not a date. More friends are good. Neither Steve or Robin have many friends these days. 

Then all of the sudden, Billy is on the floor. Convulsing. There’s no time to react before he starts to shift. Not that Steve would be able to do anything. He kneels next to Billy. Trying to calm him, even as his body morphs into something horrific. 

Billy pushes Steve away with enough force to knock him halfway across the room. There’s a crash of shattering glass. A big hole where the window used to be. Billy’s clothes torn to shreds on the floor. Fuck. 

Steve doesn’t have a car. He runs down three flights of stairs and into the parking lot. Billy—the demogorgon—is nowhere in sight. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

It was supposed to be like, two more weeks before another shift. They were going to drive to the woods again. He goes back upstairs in a hazy fog. He doesn’t know what to do. Billy’s going to kill someone. The only people who could stop him would use lethal force. Steve shouldn’t be making this kind of decision. He doesn’t know enough. He’s not equipped to answer these sorts of questions.  _ Is one life worth more than another? What would you do to protect someone you love? _

He picks up the phone. He calls Jonathan. Because Hopper would shoot. Nancy would shoot. The kids shouldn’t take on something so dangerous alone. But Will is a homing device. He said he felt the demogorgon approach. Jonathan has fought monsters before, and might be convinced to ask questions before the killing blow. 

“Hello?” Jonathan answers on the fifth ring. He sounds a little sleepy. 

“Is Will home?”

“Yeah. I mean. I think so.”

“Put him in the car and come pick me up.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Don’t call anyone else.”

“What—“

_ “Please.” _

Jonathan must hear the desperation. The wavering composure. Steve is on the verge of tears. 

“OK.” Jonathan sighs. “OK. I’ll be there soon.”

***

It’s maybe twenty minutes of them careening down the roads, playing  _ getting warmer, getting colder _ with how much Will’s neck is tingling. Neither Jonathan or Will reached for the walkie when Steve told them they were looking for Billy. 

Steve’s not sure what will happen when they find him. He’s not sure what Jonathan will do if Billy is crouched over a fresh corpse, eating bloody flesh by the clawed fistful. Steve certainly wouldn’t blame anyone for taking a shot when faced with such a scene. He hopes, though. He hopes maybe they can incapacitate Billy without killing him. Maybe if they can just find him, Steve can talk him down like he did before. 

“He’s close.” Will murmurs. They’re on Orchard Street. Driving past pretty houses and manicured lawns. 

Jonathan slams on the brakes when he sees a shattered front door. They pile out of the car. Will carrying a crowbar. Jonathan with his shotgun. Steve’s got the old baseball bat full of nails, hoping like hell he doesn’t have to use it. He hears a woman screaming. 

They race through the front door. Up the stairs. There’s another wrecked door, torn clean off the hinges. Steve sees the bloody bed. The mangled body. He tries not to look at it. Instead he looks at the woman pinned to the wall, screaming and struggling against the claws holding her there. The demogorgon shrieks. 

Steve swings. He connects with the middle of the demogorgon’s hunched, bony back. The force, or maybe the shock is enough to make it drop the woman—Mrs. Baley, she runs the book club Steve’s mom goes to. The demogorgon turns on Steve. He swings again, this time for its leg. 

A shot rings through the air. The demogorgon jerks back as the bullet rips through its shoulder. It’s bleeding black. Steve stares at the wound. At the screaming stumbling creature. He drops that bat with tears in his eyes. 

“Grab Mrs. Baley,” he says. 

Then he launches himself at the demogorgon. Arms wrapped around its shoulders. It tries to shake him off for a moment. Then it pauses. It just stands there as he hangs onto it. 

“Please, Billy,” he murmurs. Not even sure where it’s ears might be. “Please stop.”

He hears Mrs. Bailey sobbing behind him. Jonathan murmuring platitudes as the crying gets quieter. The demogorgon falls to the ground with Steve on top of him. It struggles. Claws wrapping around Steve’s hips. Digging into him. He whimpers but doesn’t let go. 

It screams and thrashes. It convulses. Then it goes still. He can  _ feel  _ the bones shifting. It’s awful. But then there’s no longer a monster underneath him. It’s Billy. Shivering. Disoriented. Covered in blood. 

Steve hauls Billy to his feet. Gets an arm around his waist, supporting a lot of his weight as they stagger out of the room and down the stairs. Jonathan is standing in the hall, still holding his shotgun. Mrs. Bailey’s crying is distant. 

“Can I have your keys?” Steve knows he sounds broken. Desperate. Probably crazy. 

Jonathan looks at Billy, who is at most half-conscious, head lolling, stark naked. 

“Will already called Hopper,” Jonathan says. Some hesitation in the words. 

“Billy didn’t mean to.” Steve feels the hitch in his voice. “He can’t control it. He wouldn’t murder someone on purpose. He—he just needs help.”

“He’s killed a lot of people.”

“Please, Jonathan. We helped Will. Billy needs help. I just. I need time, OK? I know I’m not gonna be able to convince anybody not to hurt him when we’re at crime scene. Please.”

Jonathan swallows. Just stares at him. 

“I love him.” Steve feels his eyes burning. “I can't lose him. Please.”

Jonathan digs the keys out of his pocket and gives them to Steve. “I’m gonna say you took them from me by force.”

“Of course.”

“You have to come back.”

“I will.”

Steve gets them downstairs. He puts Billy in the back seat. He’s behind the wheel, reviving the engine. He rockets down the road. He can hear sirens in the distance. 

He’s numb. A few steps removed from reality. His knuckles are white in the steering wheel. He doesn’t know where he’s going. He just gets on the highway and drives. 


	20. Tenth Cycle - 1 Day

Billy wakes up in a strange car. He’s sprawled naked in the back seat, covered by some musty old blanket. He tastes blood. He feels full. 

Shit. 

He sits up. Steve is in the driver’s seat, chain smoking. They’re parked in some grassy field. The middle of nowhere. 

“What happened?” Billy asks. He doesn’t actually want to know. 

“Mr. Bailey is dead. I’m sure Mrs. Bailey is a the station right now, being convinced she got attacked by a bear.”

Bailey. One of Neil’s fuckin’ army buddies he made down at the VA. Well. Yeah. That’s not terribly surprising. It’s not like Billy is trying to kill anyone. He doesn’t  _ want _ to. But. 

That guy was such an asshole. Used to come over and get drunk with Neil and say gross shit to Max. Once Billy caught him skulking in the hallway outside Max’s room when she was sleeping. Billy threatened him with a pocket knife. Neil gave Billy a black eye about it later, of course, but at least that seemed to put a stop to Bailey having any ideas about sneaking into Max’s bed or something. 

“Fuck.” Billy groans.

“Jonathan and Will know. Hopper probably knows now too. Everyone probably knows. I’m sorry.”

Steve tosses a newspaper into the back seat. It’s folded to page five.  _ Couple honeymooning in Hoosier National Forest declared missing.  _ Steve drove them far away from the boundaries of any campsites. Billy can run a long distance. He can apparently run farther than either of them anticipated. 

“We could um. I could drive back to Hawkins. Give Jonathan his car. Take yours. I could pack us some stuff. We could—“

“Steve.”

“Yeah?” Steve breathes shaky. He wipes at his sheeks.

“You’re not coming with me.”

“What do you mean?” Steve turns around. His eyes are wet.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You didn’t hurt me! You’re not going to. I know it. You won’t—”

“I don’t think we can know anything for sure.” Billy’s throat is dry. There aren’t a lot of options here. He’s probably out of time already. The longer they sit in this field, the less likely he can get away. Hopper is in Law Enforcement. He can put out warrants.

“Don’t say that.” Steve snaps. “You—you’ve had plenty of opportunities. And you don’t hurt me. You fight it. You can fight it Billy!” 

“Maybe I can right now.” Billy rolls his shoulders. He’s sore in a lot of spots. Probably took a beating last night. There are bruises. “But I’m dangerous, Steve. I’m also not gonna like, make you go on the run or something? Especially if I am either gonna keep murdering people or die in a couple months.”

“You wouldn’t be making me! I want… I want to help you. And we don’t know you’ll die. Like. I think I was right. If we can just keep you from eating anyone, then the cycle will get longer again, and then you’ll be OK... ”

“That’s the problem isn’t it.” Billy’s still holding the newspaper. His heart’s beating too fast. “I don’t think you can stop me.”

Steve’s crying now. Billy drops the newspaper and holds his arms out. Steve climbs into the back seat, into Billy’s lap. All lanky, awkward limbs. He buries his face against Billy’s neck, sobbing. Billy holds him. Trying not to think about how this might be the last chance he gets to do that. 

“I’m pretty sure that if I don’t keep eating people, I’ll die.” Billy says, calm as he can. 

“But the deer—“

“I got really sick after that. Besides. I have dreams. It tells me what I have to do. It said I would die if I didn’t.”

“Maybe it’s lying.” Steve’s breath hitches. “It’s a monster. It could be lying.”

“I don’t think it is.” Billy squeezes Steve tight. Takes a few breaths. “I don’t wanna die in fucking Indiana. Just…”

“Where are you gonna go?” Steve’s shaking

Billy’s thought about it before. Packing up his car and just driving back across the country. If he could make it to California. He could go live in the woods or something. Find a deserted coastline. Hell, he might just jump off a cliff. But when he does it he wants to be  _ home. _ Not here where shit’s gone from bad to worse and he’s about to say goodbye to the only thing that makes this hellhole worth tolerating.

Wounded animals crawl away to die alone. That’s what this is. That’s what Billy will tell himself. Maybe he’s just going to transplant the problem. Maybe he’ll just move to a place where he doesn’t know anybody and let nature take its course. Is he a murderer if something else is using his body and he’s just letting it happen? Or does that just make him like… an accessory?

Billy isn’t really the sort of person who contemplates complex moral questions. He doesn’t see the point. Every situation ends with someone getting screwed. Either you’re the person doing it, or the recipient. Billy’s tired of life fucking him over.

So instead of answering he pulls Steve into a kiss. It’s messy. Tastes like salt. Steve reciprocates with the usual level of enthusiasm. He’s clutching at Billy. Holding on so goddamn tight. Billy’s gonna miss this. He knows they should get going. But god. He can’t help himself.

Billy’s already getting hard. He pushes the blanket off of him. Tugs at the button of Steve’s jeans. Steve gets the idea. Squirms out of them quick as he can. It’s not Billy’s car. He’s always got lube in the glove box. He figures they’re gonna have to settle for spit and patience, but Steve reaches under the seat and comes back with a tub of Vaseline. 

“Still here I guess.” Steve flushes a little.

“Who’s car is this?”

“Uh. Jonathan’s.”

“Christ.”

Billy doesn’t even have time to be mad about that. He just opens the jar and pushes two fingers in Steve’s ass. Steve moans. Opens up so easy. Billy probably doesn’t take enough time with it. There aren’t any complaints when Billy lines his dick up and pulls Steve down onto it. Steve moans. He kisses Billy so frantically as he starts to roll his hips. 

_ “Baby,” _ Billy groans. 

Steve’s perfect. Hot, and tight, and so goddamn eager. He’s pressed close against Billy’s chest. Grinding on his stomach. Rock hard, cock dribbling. He’s wet like a bitch. The kiss is so sloppy a strand of spit spreads between their lips when Steve pulls back a little.

“Take me with you.” His eyes are wide and vulnerable. “Please.”

Billy tries to just kiss him again. Steve fists a hand in his hair. Maintains that searing eye contact. Keeps fucking himself on Billy’s dick, picking up speed.

“Don’t leave me. I can’t. I don’t have anything here. I want to go with you. Please, Billy.”

“Baby, you can’t—”

“I love you.” Steve’s tearing up again.

Fuck. 

Billy comes. It’s like, instant, and embarrassing, and he’s dizzy with it. He tries to get his hand on Steve’s dick to even the score quick as possible. Steve pushes his hand away.

“Billy. I love you. Please don’t leave me.” He’s crying harder.

It’s not the first time someone’s said a thing like that. It usually makes Billy’s chest tight. It makes him feel like a rat in a cage. It’s a thing people inflict on him. He doesn’t want it. Doesn’t like it. He’s disgusted by it.

Steve, though. 

It’s dumb. They haven’t even been doing this that long. Steve doesn’t even know him that well. He doesn’t seem to understand all the ways that Billy is a shitty person. Even if he used to know, or have a general idea, it’s like he’s forgotten. 

“Baby—you don’t really…”

“I do.” Steve almost sounds mad. “I know what I’m feeling. And maybe you don’t but. I don’t want to lose you.”

"OK." Billy says before he can stop himself. "Fuck. OK. You can come with me."

Steve kisses him again. He lets Billy touch him. Moans so pretty. Comes everywhere. Billy's already a mess. He doesn't have any clothes. He's coming down from the high and the reality of the situation is setting in hard. Billy doesn't have any clothes. They need to get stuff from his house, right? Maybe not. Maybe they just go to a motel. Billy showers. Steve can go pick up Billy's car. Ditch Jonathan's there. Billy can get all his money out from the bank and they can just. Go.

"All right." Billy takes a deep breath. "C'mon. We gotta do this fast."

"Yeah. OK." Steve nods a little dazed. He pulls his pants back on. 

The adrenaline sets in. Steve gets in the driver's seat. He starts the car and they peel off towards the road. Billy doesn't know exactly where they are. Kinda far out from Hawkins it seems like.

They stop at the motel 6 by the highway. Steve rents a room. When he comes back with a key, Billy gets out of the car and dashes to the door wrapped in the blanket, quick as he can. He showers all the blood off while Steve drives back to his house—where Billy left his wallet and car keys when his clothes ripped off. Then he'll go to Billy's house. Get his car. Then they'll go.

It's terrible just sitting there on the edge of the lumpy mattress. Naked. Helpless. Billy doesn't have any comfort but the pack of cigarettes and the lighter Steve left him. He stares at the clock. Watches the minutes tick by into an hour. He turns on the TV and can't focus on it. He can hear his own heart pounding. The blood rushing through his veins.

He can hear the other people in the building. He can hear soft voices coming from upstairs and next door. A couple fighting. Someone fucking a hooker. He can hear their blood pumping. He can imagine what it would taste like. Billy is hungry. 

There's a bible sitting on the nightstand. Billy hasn't picked up a bible since he was a little kid and his mom was taking him to church. She was always the religious type. Believed in God, and Angels and Demons. Billy used to think it was all bullshit. It's hard not to wonder. Maybe the evil that's set up shop inside him is something from hell. Not the fire and brimstone type of hell, but something just as dark. Somewhere dead, and ashy, and full of the souls of the damned.

It's much too late for salvation. Billy's been ruined for years. But he picks up the bible anyway. Leafs through it. Doesn't really stop to register any particular words. He just feels the texture of the paper. Dwells on the smell of an old book. The leather binding. 

He's hungry.

Billy wraps a towel around his waist. He keeps chain smoking. He paces. It's been two hours and Steve should have been back by now. It's not wild to think that Hopper would have been waiting at Billy's house. Hopper probably knows that Steve and Billy took off together. Maybe Steve could lie. Say that Billy ran off and he was just getting the car to try and look for him. Not particularly plausible. Maybe Steve's sitting in the Sheriff's station, getting grilled about where Billy is.

Steve left him about fifty bucks. Billy could buy some clothes if he can get into a store. Then what? Hitchhike? He'd probably murder whoever picked him up. He wonders if the monster would know enough to lift the keys off the body. That would certainly be one way to get a car. 

Three hours. Steve's not coming back. Billy keeps flicking the curtains open just enough to look out the window. He can't stay here. It's not safe. 

He makes himself a toga with the bedsheets and slinks out the door. He's not going to go on the main roads. Nobody's gonna pick him up looking like this. He's also not gonna walk down the street in broad daylight. He walks out into the woods. Dissolves among the trees.

His heart is pounding. He feels a little dizzy.

He can’t go to a store. That was supid. No. He’s gonna have to break into somebody’s house. Rob them. Take their clothes. Whatever money they’ve got. And their car. He’s broken into houses before. Mostly petty shit, stealing a TV to buy coke or something. He’s not above it. Desperate times.

Plenty of people in Hawkins have money. Especially people with big houses on the edge of the woods. It doesn’t take Billy long to run across one. 

Billy approaches. It's still the middle of the day. Maybe nobody will be home. He comes at the house from the thick trees, low to the ground. He doesn't see anyone at the nearest window. He tries it. It's not locked. He climbs into what looks like some sort of office. The door's closed. Billy's quiet as he opens desk drawers. Mostly a bunch of papers. Nothing useful. He picks up a letter opener and ventures out into the hall.

He doesn't hear a television or any signs of life. The hallway is long. All the doors shut. He guesses. Starts walking left. Tries the first door on the right. Bathroom. Next door is a closet. He takes a coat and some running shoes that are a little pinched at the toe. Beggars can’t be choosers or whatever. Next door is a bedroom. Doesn't look like the master. There's nothing in it worth taking. 

The next door is the master. There's a young woman asleep with a face mask on. She’s wearing flannel pajamas and has her dark hair in curlers. Billy hesitates in the doorway. It's impossible to know how light of a sleeper a random stranger is. He backs out of the room slowly. Wanders back to the living room.

It's open and bright. Big television. Expensive knicknacks everywhere. He pockets a few things that are shiny and gold, hoping to pawn them. He sees the telephone sitting on the coffee table. Rips the cord out of the wall. Yeah. That'll do it. He ventures back to the bedroom. The woman's still asleep. He's gotta be quick about this.

He grabs her wrists and jerks her out of the bed. She shrieks. He pulls her arms behind her, fingernails digging into skin.

"Don't move. Shut up. I don't wanna hurt you."

She struggles. He yanks on her arms again. Twists them behind her back so it's painful. She whimpers. She still has the eye mask on. She hasn't seen him.

"Calm down. I just want some clothes and whatever cash you have lying around. That's it."

"Let me go," she blubbers. "My husband will be back any minute. He has a gun."

"OK. All the more reason to get this over with."

Billy wraps the phone cord around her wrists. He drags her back over to the bed and ties her to one of the poles of the headboard. She's still struggling. He doesn't want to do it. But he takes the letter opener out of the coat pocket and presses it against her throat. 

"Stop fucking moving. I said I don't wanna hurt you, but I will."

She goes still. Breathing heavy. Obviously panicking. Billy can relate. It's been a shitshow of a day all around. 

He keeps an eye on her while he roots through the closet. He takes a bunch of pairs of pants, shirts, socks. He stuffs them all in a gym back that's sitting at the bottom of the closet.

The woman's purse is sitting on her vanity. He finds a little over $200 inside. Of course. This house reeks of money. Billy pulls on some pants. Puts socks on under the shoes. The woman is trembling. Like. He gets it. Home invasion must be scary. But jesus christ, isn't she being a little dramatic?

He glances out the window. There's a car in the driveway.

"Is that your car out there?"

The woman doesn't say anything.

"Like. I'll come over there and threaten to stab you again. It would be easier if we skipped that step."

"Yes. It's my car." She snivels. 

"Cool. Not anymore."

Billy finds the keys after some more rooting around. He backs out into the hallway as quietly as possible. And just like that, he walks out the front door. He unlocks a little Chevy Malibu and gets inside. Full tank of gas. Sweet. He revs the engine and backs out the driveway. Soon he's on the road heading out of town. 

He's near the highway when he hears a siren. He doesn't have to even glance in the rearview mirror. He has no idea how they found him. Maybe they're watching all the roads out of town. How would they even know this shit. He's driving someone else's car? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The cop car is gaining on him. He's not sure if it's Hopper or some other shmuck. Billy's not pulling over. He slams on the gas. There aren't any turn offs. What happens if he just keeps going?

Then all of the sudden the car is in the goddamned air. Wheels spinning. He's several feet off the ground. And then the car fucking flips over and crashes, upside down. 

The pain is instant and overwhelming. Shattered glass. Smoking engine. Billy's ears are ringing. He can hear shouting. He's being pulled out the broken window. The little brown-haired girl is standing over him with a bloody nose, along with Hopper and the Wheeler bitch.

Just. Fucking. Peachy.


	21. The Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen, clinical depression is a hell of a drug, but I'm gonna finish this with a bang. It's done. Updating every day the next three days.

Jim’s been through a lot of bullshit in the past couple years of his life. He’s had a lot of sudden responsibilities foisted upon him. Seen things. Done things. Stared evil straight in the eye and lived to be ordered not to talk about it by sketchy government entities. Locking Billy Hargrove behind bars is just the latest in a string of hard decisions. Deep down, Jim’s still not sure it’s the right call. It goes against most of his gut instincts.

When you run across a rabid dog, you put it down. Even if it used to be a beloved pet. A quick death is kinder to everyone in the long run.

But Maxine Mayfield is a force of nature. And Steve Harrington might be the most pathetic, lovesick disaster Jim’s ever laid eyes on. So, Billy’s sitting on a cot in a cell. Steve’s in the cell next to him, pacing frantically, and Max is standing beside Jim, biting her nails. El has been quiet. Hasn’t said much since she flipped the car Billy stole. She’s just leaning against the wall and watching. They’re all waiting for the inevitable.

“Do I get a last meal?” Billy asks, almost conversational. “Or like. A preacher or something?”

“We ain’t about to put you in the chair,” Jim snorts.

“No. But I’m about to turn into a monster that I’m pretty sure can rip down metal bars, and then you’re gonna kill me. I feel like maybe we should stop pretending that I’m gonna live through the night.”

“Billy!” Steve snaps. He walks right up to the bars, trying to lean over to see into Billy’s cell. His face flushed and a little angry. 

“He’s holding a shotgun, babe.” Billy shrugs. “That chick staring at me can apparently break my neck without lifting a finger? The odds aren’t looking great for me.”

“Stop it. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Steve sounds awful confident. Jim’s not about to argue with him out loud. But Billy isn’t looking towards Steve. He’s looking directly at Jim and it almost seems like a challenge. Like he knows exactly what’s going through Jim’s head. Not like it’s hard to figure out. The mental calculus of the situation is pretty simple. Steve is just. Well. Steve. Max is distraught and not thinking objectively. So. Jim ain’t about to point out the obvious unless he has to.

He’s a little concerned about whether or not he’ll be quick enough on the trigger if it comes to that. He figures El will be. He pulled her aside earlier and told her what had to be done in the worst case scenario.

“I don’t want to kill him. He’s not bad.” Is what she said. 

“Yeah. Well. He’s not good either. And all sorts of people can do bad things in the right circumstances.”

They left it at that. El’s a smart girl. He wishes he didn’t have to put this sort of weight on her narrow shoulders. But war ravages innocence. That’s what they’re in. Yet another unending, seemingly unwinnable war with an invisible enemy that hides in the trees.

The fact that Billy almost got away makes the whole situation even tenser. Driving through hawkins with the radio blasting static, El blindfolded, giving erratic directions… it was touch and go. Jim’s chest got so tight when she said that Billy had a knife to someone’s throat.

If Billy had murdered someone while in his human form, Jim wouldn't have even bothered bringing him in. He would have ended things promptly. Looking into Billy's icy blue eyes now... well. Jim's seen killers before and knows what they look like. Billy is dangerous. He's violent. He'll do whatever it takes to get what he wants. He was ready to run off somewhere, knowing full well what he is and what he'd do.

Jim's not gonna stand for that.

The sun is starting to set, casting shadows through the barred windows. Steve's pacing gets a little more frantic. From what he said, the shifts tend to happen around sunset. He was babbling about some sort of cycle. Saying Billy would probably turn tonight. He also said a lot about how if they could just keep Billy locked up, then maybe he'd be cured. Jim's not so sure about that. Seems like Billy wasn't either, considering he could have turned himself in at any point.

Jim's got no idea what to do with Steve. Whether to charge him as an accessory or not. Steve knew what Billy was. He tried to keep it a secret. Would have kept it a secret if he weren't caught in the act. And on top of that, he wasted a full hour after Jim caught him at Billy’s house, trying to take the car. He led them on a wild goose chase, apparently trying to buy Billy time before Jim realized what was going on and put El on the scent. 

Love makes people do crazy things. That don't mean it's an excuse for endangering the lives of others. Mr. Bailey died. That couple in the woods died. That's blood on Steve's hands as much as it is on Billy's. 

It's not like this shit's ever going to trial. Jim's the judge, jury, and possibly the executioner. He'd rather that not happen with an audience. Max refused to leave. He needs El here. At the very least the rest of them are sitting in his office instead of right next to the cell. It's probably not safe here. Like Billy said, it's very possible he can rip right through bars.

Billy rolls his shoulders. He cracks his neck. He turns that disturbingly steady gaze on El. He doesn't say anything. Just looks at her. There's still a little blood crusted around her nostril. Jim never likes making her use her powers. He figures it can't be good for her. It tires her out. Far as he knows, that blood might be coming from her brain. He wishes that she could just have a normal life. Even if it's probably out of reach at this point. He wants her to have the closest thing he can get her.

The light fades rapidly. Jim leans against the cold concrete wall. Billy stays stock still. Max's fingernails are bitten to the quick. She keeps shifting back and forth on her feet.

This whole exercise might be pointless. Watching him shift. Steve's already seen it. Has absolutely no reason to lie about it. There's been plenty of witnesses on what the monster looks like when it comes out. But Max cried. Said he couldn’t hurt Billy without knowing for sure. Said they couldn’t hurt Billy unless  _ absolutely necessary. _

Maybe the bars will hold. Maybe Billy won't lash out. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Jim sighs. He could use a drink. He's thinking about the bottle of Jack in his desk drawer when it happens. Billy convulses and falls to the floor. There's dark black in his veins. Spreading down his arms and up his neck. A pop as his bones dislocate. A crunch as they reshape. His skin turns mottled and dark. The clothes rip as he grows to an impossible size. His face has morphed. Elongated. It splits apart into fleshy petals that spread open as the thing screams.

"Billy!" Steve cries out. Reaching his arm through the bars, sticking it into Billy's cell. "Please. Just. Stay calm."

The thing screams again. It stumbles to its feet. Jim can't tell where the eyes are, but he trains his gun on its head. It moves quickly. Scrambling in a circle around the cell. Looking for an exit. It stops for a moment at Steve's hand. The petals spread wider like it's going to bite.

"Steve!" Max cries out.

Steve doesn't jerk his hand away. The monster doesn't close its teeth around him. Instead a slimy tongue flicks out and drags along Steve's skin. 

Then the thing rushes at the bars. It grabs onto the door and rips it clean away in one movement. Jim fires. The monster moves so fast he misses the head, grazes its shoulder. 

It flies back and hits the wall. El's nose is bleeding again. She keeps it pressed against the concrete. The thing shrieks and thrashes.

"Let me out!" Steve's babbling. "Let me out I can calm him down. Please. Hop. Please."

The thing claws at the wall as it struggles, leaving deep grooves in the cement. El pushes at it harder. She's trembling from the force of it. 

Max grabs the keys off Jim’s belt. She rushes to Steve’s cell to unlock it. Jim’s still trailing the gun on the monster. Distracted. He calls after her but she’s already unlocked the door. Steve rushes towards Billy’s cell and bounces off against whatever force El is projecting.

“Let him down, El. Just. Let me get to him.”

El bites her lip. Her eyes flick to Steve then back to the monster.

“Don’t you dare!” Jim growls. He’s got the gun pointed at the monster’s chest.

El’s hands drop. The demogorgon slides down the wall. Its clawed feet hit the floor. Steve runs to it. Jumps at it. Wraps himself around it. He’s mumbling.  _ Billy, come back. Billy, please. _ The thing isn’t moving. It’s just got both clawed hands wrapped around Steve’s waist. 

The silence is tense. Jim’s finger on the trigger. Max is clutching at the bars of the cell, staring at Steve and Billy. El is pale and shaky. 

Jim could take a shot. It might hit Steve. It might not be enough to stop the monster. Nancy said she put six shells in it and that wasn’t enough to take it down. They’re gonna have to kill Billy while he’s human. 

El is walking. Forward, into the cell.

“El! What are you doing? Stop!” Jim tries to grab for her. She pushes him back with a sudden wave of force.

She strides towards the monster on steady feet. Hands at her sides. Jaw set. Shoulders squared. Sometimes, she looks so much bigger than she is. 

The monster still isn’t moving. It’s stock still. Holding onto Steve as he murmurs to it, begging it not to hurt anybody. El’s within reaching distance. She raises her arm. The thing is so much taller than her, she can barely reach its chest. She places her palm on the inky black skin. The thing shudders. It drops Steve and crumples to the ground.

So does El.

The creature twitches. It morphs, becoming smaller again. The inky black blood recedes. Pooling down into Billy’s leg, like it all leaked out of the twisted scars on his calf. Jim rushes into the cell. Billy and El are both breathing, but completely limp.

“What… what happened… ?” Steve sounds as choked up as Jim feels.

“I don’t know.”

“She must be in there with him,” Max murmurs. She approaches. Crouches down on the floor between the two prone bodies.

“What do we do?” Steve’s holding onto Billy’s hand. Wide eyed and scared.

“I guess we wait.”


	22. Upside Down

The darkness is familiar. El’s sneakers make little splashing noises as she steps through the thin layer of water. It echoes in the vast emptiness. 

Billy isn’t hard to find. She sees him almost immediately. Flashes of a beach. Of sun and sand. A little boy with blonde hair and rosy cheeks running to his mother as waves crash against the shore.

His mother is pretty. She looks like him. With long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She’s sad. Like Billy will be sad. El can see it in the soft creases of her face. The way she holds herself. Tense.

Then El’s underneath a kitchen table. Sitting on dirty linoleum with that boy, who has curly blonde hair. He’s got his legs folded against his chest. Holding onto himself while a man and a woman scream at each other. All El can see is their legs. Pressed trousers and a floral skirt. 

_ “You’re one of them!” _

_ “Shut the fuck up with that shit, Dorothy. You’re crazy.” _

_ “I can see it. Don’t think I can’t see. Your real face is so ugly. You won’t take me. My soul belongs to Jesus Christ.” _

The scene morphs. They’re sitting on a wooden bench in a big building with stained glass windows. It’s just Billy and his mother. A few people murmuring quietly on benches up ahead of them. A church. El’s never been in a church before, but she’s read about them. Seen them on television.

Billy’s mother is reading from a book in a hushed tone. Billy is just holding another book. Looking at her.

_ “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell.” _

_ “Mom.” _ Billy whispers, tugging on her sleeve.

_ “Shh, honey. This is a quiet place remember?” _

_ “Is he really?” _

_ “Hmm?” _

_ “Is Dad really… is he really the devil?” _

Billy’s mother is quiet for a long time, staring into the middle distance. Staring at the altar covered in candles. The statue of a man nailed to a cross.

_ “Maybe not the devil himself. Lucifer has many minions.” _

_ “So Dad’s a demon?” _

_ “Yes. But don’t worry. God is going to protect us until we can get away.” _

Billy clutches at the little gold cross that’s hanging off the chain around his neck. His mother goes back to reading. 

There’s a flash of silver. They’re back in the kitchen. Or. In the hallway, looking in at the kitchen as Billy’s mother swings a knife at his father. 

Sirens approach in the distance. Billy’s mother is carted off in a straight jacket. Billy’s still holding onto the golden cross around his neck. 

Colors swirl. They’re kneeling next to Billy’s bed as he mutters under his breath. There’s a tall candle with a picture of jesus wrapped around it flickering next to his bed. A door slams downstairs. 

_ “Hail Mary, full of grace. The lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…” _

Stairs creak as someone stomps up them. Billy trembles. 

_ “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of death.” _

The door swings open. Billy’s father is standing there. Towering so tall. Face bright red like a cartoon. 

“What have I fucking told you about the candles? You trying to burn the house down?”

_ “Amen.”  _ Billy barely whispers. 

Then his father is lifting him up, grabbing him by both shoulders and tossing him back onto the floor. He unbuckles his belt and slides it from the loops. 

“Stand up. Hands against the wall.”

The scene fades as Billy starts to cry. 

Then they’re in a record store. Billy is older. His ear is pierced. His hair is starting to grow long. He’s holding an album with a zombie and a red devil on it.  _ Iron Maiden, The Number of The Beast.  _

El watches Billy smoke, and drink, and get into fights. She watches him drive his car too fast, blasting loud metal music. He has friends who wear shirts with pentagrams on them. He’s so angry. She can feel it viscerally. All the pain of bruises and broken skin. The frustration. The sense of abandonment. 

Billy is lonely. Nobody is trying to help him. Not god. Not the devil. Not a single person in his life. 

El understands  _ lonely _ . Just a bad man giving orders. Billy didn’t escape. He didn’t get a rescue. 

Billy doesn’t have a Mike, a Jim, a Lucas, Dustin, Will or Joyce. He has a Max—who couldn’t do anything for him. He has a Steve now. But only after the darkness got a hold of him. 

The flurry of images stops. El is standing in a graveyard with a sickly orange sky. Billy is on the ground next to her. Just a little boy again. Legs thighs against his chest in an upright fetal position. He’s crying. 

El crouches down next to him. Puts a hand on his shoulder. Billy startles. He looks up at her with wide, wet eyes. 

“He’s coming,” Billy whispers. “We can’t hide. He always finds me.”

“Who does?”

Billy doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. A shape looms in the distance, fast approaching. A tall man with a harsh face, in a white lab coat. 

Papa. 

El stands up. She extends her hand. Focuses all her strength. She’s not going to let him hurt anyone else. He’s her monster and she’ll deal with him. 

He draws closer. Smiling at her. 

“My, my, Eleven. You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you? This is what happens without proper discipline.”

El shrieks. She throws a wave of force at him with all her might. It knocks him over. But he gets right back up. He laughs at her. 

“Out of practice? I’m sure you’ve been neglecting your training.”

Billy whines next to her. He rests his face on his knees. El takes a deep breath. Tries to gather her energy once again. She tilts her head, teeth gritted. Papa’s neck snaps with a resounding crack. 

He doesn’t crumple to the ground. He keeps walking towards her, head bent to one side at a horrible angle. 

“Eleven, I’m surprised at you. Trying to hurt your Papa like this. Don’t you love me?”

“No!” El screams. She launches another wall of energy at Papa. He’s getting much too close. This one doesn’t even knock him over. 

He grabs her by the shoulders and lifts her into the air. She kicks and screams. She claws at his arms and his face. His skin rips like tissue paper, exposing grey flesh and inky blood. 

“Such a brat. You need a time out.”

There’s suddenly an open grave next to them. Papa tosses her into it. She falls into a coffin and the lid shuts. El pounds on it, kicks it open. Dirt falls on top of her. She stands up as the avalanche of earth tries to bury her. She manages to claw her way to the edge, keep her head above it, but she’s trapped. Struggling, buried up to her shoulders. 

Papa is gone. Instead it’s Billy’s father. It’s Billy’s father with his throat ripped out, bleeding dark ruby red. He can’t speak. He just gurgles. Billy scrambles backwards. Still crying. 

The awful image morphs again. Into… Billy. It’s a copy of Billy. Present day Billy, with blackened gums and bloodshot eyes. 

“Complete the cycle.” It rasps. “Kill her.”

“No,” Billy babbles. “I—I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You already have.” The copy cackles. “You’ve hurt so many people. It’s all you do. You’re a poison. You ruin everything you touch. So finish it. Kill her and set us free.”

The small, frightened Billy looks at El. The larger Billy picks up a nearby shovel and holds it out to him. 

“Bash her head in.” It snarls. “Do it or I’ll kill you instead. You’ll have to stay here forever with the rest of us.”

The sky grows darker. El can see the spindly legs. The spidery monster fills the sky. Shadows rise from the graves around them. El struggles, but the dirt holds fast. Her arms are pinned against her sides. She can’t move her legs. 

_ “Feed.” _ The copy’s voice booms much too loud through the still air. 

“Billy!” El cries out. “Don’t listen. You have to fight it.”

“I—I’m scared.” Billy warbles. He looks so small and helpless. El wishes she could run to him. Wishes she could help. She can’t save Billy’s past. But maybe there’s hope for his future. 

“You’re not alone anymore.” El keeps her voice steady as she can. “You have Steve. You have me. I want to help you. Dig me out—“

There’s suddenly duct-tape across El’s mouth. She can’t do anything but squirm and try to scream. 

_ “She can’t help you. No one can. Kill her.” _

Billy reaches out and takes the shovel. His hands are trembling. He stands on unsteady legs. He looks at his copy and then at El. He takes a few hesitant steps towards her. 

“I’m sorry. I—I don’t want to…” he hiccups. Tears streaming down his cheeks. 

Then he suddenly wheels around and strikes his double in the knees. His double howls and crumples to the ground. Billy takes another swing at its head. Then he races towards El. As he runs, he grows, getting taller, broader, until he’s the same Billy sitting back in the cell at the station. 

He plunges the shovel into the dirt next to her. He starts to dig. His double is on the ground but still moving. Trying to get back to its feet. 

_ “I’ll destroy you.”  _ It snarls. 

Billy keeps digging. He gets the dirt loose enough that El can pull an arm free. She rips the duct tape off. She grabs at the dead grass, trying to pull herself up. The ground is soft. Billy manages to dig down to her hips before his double stumbles toward him. Billy grabs her shoulders and tugs. He lifts her out of the ground and carries her a few steps back before setting her down. 

Together, they turn to face the monster. 

El feels the warm trickle of blood under her nose. Billy grips the shovel, ready to swing. It’s not Billy’s double anymore. Its skin has turned leathery. It has gotten taller. Its head spreads into a bloom of teeth. El hears snarling in the distance. Sees the four-legged shadows approaching. 

“This is your mind.” El says softly. “You have a lighter in your pocket.”

Billy wrinkles his forehead in confusion for a moment. But he reaches into the pocket of his faded jeans and produces a lighter. 

“It doesn’t like the heat.” El looks down at all the dead grass surrounding them. 

Billy gets the idea. They step into the fresh pile of dirt. Billy bends down and flicks the flint wheel, holding it to the grass. It catches immediately. Starts to crackle and spread. The demogorgon shrieks and launches itself towards them, leaping over the fire. El hits it with a wall of energy. It stumbles, howls as it touches burning grass. Launches itself again. Billy hits it with the metal part of the shovel, square in the head. 

The fire spreads through the graveyard quickly. The grass burns out fast, but it at least seems to be keeping the dogs at a distance. The demogorgon’s movements are jerky and sluggish. Like it can’t deal with the burns or heat. It leaps again. Billy swings the shovel. It stumbles again. Disoriented. Panicked. 

Billy knocks it to the ground. He’s poised with the metal tip of the shovel against its neck. Ready to force it down with his whole weight. 

Something clicks in El’s head.  _ Complete the cycle.  _

“Don’t kill it!” She yells. “It wanted you to kill something. You have to let me do it.” 

Billy hesitates. Looks at her. It’s enough of a pause that the creature thrashes and knocks him away. El takes a deep breath. She focuses. The way she’s taught herself to—not the way Papa made her. She thinks about Jim. About Mike. She thinks about safety, falling asleep at night not worried about what horrors tomorrow might hold. She thinks about  _ home _ and  _ family _ and the warm feeling in her chest. 

She lets that heat grow and grow until it’s vibrating through her. Resonating in her bones. Spreading to the tips of her fingers and toes. She opens her eyes to see the beast standing over Billy, ready to strike.

The monster can’t handle heat. But that’s not the only thing that chased it out of Will. Probably why it chose Billy in the first place. Isolated. Angry. Helpless. 

More than anything, the monster can’t handle love. 

El throws the concentrated emotion at it with all the force in her frail body. The monster doesn’t move. It doesn’t scream. It simply combusts. 

The explosion of fire, black ichor and viscera is massive. It drenches Billy. Splatters everywhere. The ground begins to rumble underneath them. El runs to him. She grasps his hands. 

“Take us out of here, Billy. It’s time to leave.”

“H-how?”

“Just open your eyes. Steve’s waiting for you. So am I. You don’t have to come back here ever again.”

Billy nods. The ground trembles more violently. El wraps him in a hug as gravestones begin to sink into the dirt. Pieces of black goo begin to fall from the sky. She holds him tight. Billy wraps his arms around her and hugs her back. 


	23. Release

Billy’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. He groans. Shuddering on a cold concrete floor. There are hands on him. Voices he can’t discern. He’s so dizzy. He feels the bile crawl up his throat and spill onto the ground. Dark black goo. It’s alive and writhing. 

There’s a flash of searing pain. Billy’s skin is splitting open. His leg. All the scars have unknit themselves, exposing infected flesh. Crimson and black are pouring out onto the floor. 

Someone grabs him by the shoulders and drags him away from the puddle of fluids out into the hallway. He’s not wretching anymore. The blood spilling from his leg is bright red now. 

He hears the word fire. Sees the curly haired kid running into the cell holding a can of hairspray and a lighter. He watches the plume of flame directed at the black spots on the concrete. It burns like gasoline and smells even worse. 

Billy’s head is in Steve’s lap. Max is bent over his leg with a first-aid kit. Pouring rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide on him. The sting isn’t really discernible from the rest of the pain. Though the fever seems to be fading. Billy’s actually kind of cold. He’s naked but for Steve’s jacket draped over his lap. 

El is slumped on the ground nearby, Hopper hovering over her, wiping the blood from under her nose. They’re talking in hushed whispers. Billy can’t make it out in his current state. 

“So like… am I going back in the cell?” Is the first thing Billy manages to rasp. His voice is shot. His mouth tastes like rot. 

“I fucking hope not.” Steve runs his fingers through Billy’s sweat-drenched hair. “I mean—you did like, break into someone’s house and commit an armed robbery. But we’re giving most of her shit back, and I’m sure she had car insurance, and it’s not like she saw you…”

“God damn it.” Hopper groans. “Just. Don’t. Don’t talk about that. Ever.”

“Yessir.”

“We should probably take you to the hospital.” Max says as she finishes wrapping gauze around Billy’s leg. “A lot of those cuts are pretty deep. And uh. Not to freak you out but some of the skin looks kinda—uh—real fucked.”

Billy doesn’t have the energy to be concerned about that. Steve’s still petting his hair. Billy is breathing. He survived. 

He’s quiet as they wrap him up in a shock blanket and gently set him in the back of the cruiser. Steve rides in the back with him. Max is in the front seat with Hopper. They get him checked into the ER. Soon there’s a lot of quality drugs pumping through his system as doctors stand over him, poking and prodding. Billy can’t really tell what’s happening. 

Consciousness fades in and out. Steve’s in a chair beside the cot, one leg folded against his chest, chewing on his nails. Max is slumped in another chair beside him, eyes closed. Dozing. 

Then Steve’s asleep, drooling a little. Max is talking to a doctor. Hopper is standing by the curtain pulled around the bed. They see his eyes are open. Max walks over to him. 

“Billy. They’re gonna do surgery on your leg, OK?” Max clasps his hand and squeezes. “You’re scheduled soon. It’s all gonna be fine.”

Billy nods. Doesn’t really know what else to do. He’s not gonna argue. Then Billy’s bed is being wheeled along a hallway. Nurses lift him into a new one, in a room with a lot of monitors and a bright light overhead. Then they put a mask over his face and say to count backwards from one-hundred. 

He wakes up in a room with actual walls. There’s a doctor. Max is sitting on the edge of the bed, listening intently. 

“The procedure went smoothly. We removed the necrotic flesh and repaired the damaged ligaments. The wounds should heal without much issue, though there will likely be extensive scarring and possible reduced mobility.”

Don’t sound too great, but Billy figures he can really complain. He’s still doped up. He’s still breathing. 

As he drifts off again it’s just darkness. No orange sky. No horrible voices in his head. 

***

Billy is released from the hospital after a couple days, on crutches with a lot of bandages on his leg. He goes home and Steve stays with him. Helping him get around. Change the gauze. Really, the nicest thing is having Steve in his bed every night. Billy’s still out of it enough that he doesn’t protest the extensive cuddling. 

Max is around too. Cooking stuff. ‘Checking in’ kind of a lot. Billy gets it. He also kinda doesn’t believe he’s still there. 

El comes to visit a couple times. She doesn’t say much besides  _ glad you’re feeling better. _ But she brings junk food and a couple movies she’s apparently taped from TV. 

It’s kinda weird how many of the random people stop by. Billy figures they’re mostly to see Steve. Like Robin, who comes in with cookies and some dry shampoo because Billy isn’t allowed to shower yet. Steve’s been wiping him down with washcloths but like, his hair is getting pretty bad. 

Lucas has the good sense to stay in the hallway outside Billy’s room when he and the other boys come to visit. The curly haired one brings a freaking model airplane like it’s something Billy would be stoked about gluing together. Wheeler has some books that have dragons and knights on the covers. The small one offers a sketch book and some colored pens. 

“I drew a lot after.” He says quietly. There’s a tiredness about him that Billy can understand. He’d almost forgotten that part. How this kid had been possessed at some point too. 

So Billy makes himself smile and say thank you. Even if it feels weird. Steve gets on his dick after the kids leave so clearly it was the right call. 

Billy has no honest idea what to make of it when Jonathan and the Wheeler bitch show up. They bring chicken soup and terse smiles. Wheeler doesn’t say much of anything and keeps her arms crossed the whole time. She stands by the window while Jonathan sits down in the desk chair and offers use of his car for any doctors visits or grocery shopping. Billy’s got a car and Steve can drive it. But he doesn’t point that out. Steve seems happy that Jonathan and Nancy are there. So whatever. 

The days pass. Billy’s leg gets slightly better. He’s allowed to shower again as long as he doesn’t get the bandages wet. Steve starts going out some during the day. Running errands. Looking for jobs. But he’s always back by early afternoon. 

“I like. Still can’t believe you were ready to go full on Bonnie and Clyde with me.” Billy snorts. He’s feeling good enough to be sitting on the couch today. His leg’s propped up on the coffee table with a lot of pillows. He’s pretending to watch MacGyver. Steve’s curled next to him, filling out applications he’s picked up around town with Robin. 

“What’s more romantic than going on the run with your criminal lover?” Steve smiles a little, nudging him. 

“You’re kinda nuts.”

“I mean. I’m here with you. So yeah.”

Billy snorts. He drapes an arm around Steve’s shoulders. Squeezes him a little. He’s still not good at the feelings crap. Hasn’t had any practice. Isn't really sure of the script. He stares at the TV, not actually seeing anything. 

The best he comes up with is, “Thanks.”

“Hmm?”

“For like—I don’t know. Everything?”

“Taking care of you. Preventing people from killing you. Protecting you from the law. Etcetera?”

“Yeah. That.” There’s a long pause. “I uh. Also like having you around.”

“Yeah?”

“Quite a bit, actually.”

“Love you, too.” Steve kisses him on the cheek. 

  
Billy could argue. That’s not what he  _ said.  _ But maybe it is what he meant. So he decides to leave it. 

**Author's Note:**

> We done it!!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/) and shiz.


End file.
